


Bridge Over Troubled Waters

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-19
Updated: 2007-11-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 17:25:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11856231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: #11 in The Fountain of Youth Series. An innocuous alien artifact becomes the source of intense scrutiny as Daniel begins to explore his reawakening ascended gifts.





	Bridge Over Troubled Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

Bridge Over Troubled Waters

 

“Ahhhhh,” I sigh as the brisk cool of the Gate room hits me full in the face on exiting the wormhole. “General Hammond, sir.” Flicking sweat from the ends of my fingers I offer a wilted salute. “SG-1 reporting mission accomplished.” 

“Welcome home, people,” Hammond says from his usual spot at the bottom of the ramp. “You look a little warm.” He grabs Carter by the arm as she sinks down on the metal grating. “Major? Are you all right? Do we need a med team?”

“No, sir, I’ll be fine.” Carter leans an elbow wearily on the railing beside her.

“Warm doesn’t begin to cover it.” I shove my P-90 over my shoulder, pull out my t-shirt and wring sweat out of the hem. “Permission to hit the showers, sir, and stay until tomorrow.” 

“We weren’t expecting you for several hours. SG-11 said you were staying for the feast. Where’s Teal’c?”

“He should be . . .” I glance over my shoulder as Teal’c’s size 16 boots hit the Gate ramp, “right behind me, sir.” 

The ramp reverberates to our footsteps as we trudge to the bottom where I nudge Carter with my size 12’s and drop down beside her. “Permission to sit down, sir?” Good thing Hammond’s a lenient commander. 

The general twitches a smile. “Permission granted, Colonel.”

The ramp railing wobbles a little as Teal’c, still behind us, leans against the railing too. Jaffa are usually impervious to extreme weather conditions, but even Teal’c is dripping today. 

“Was it this hot on the planet you guys were stranded on when I was spouting Ancient?”

“You mean P9Q-281? The planet where you drew the plans for the DHD, sir?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“No, sir.”

“Figured.”

“It was significantly hotter, O’Neill.”

“Damn. I feel like I’ve been pan-seared as it is.” The only thing holding the cooked flesh to our bones is our sweat-soaked clothes. “Lucky you guys weren’t charbroiled.”

“Yes, sir.” Carter scoots herself and her backpack sideways, banging into my leg. “Sorry, sir. The treaty is in the side pocket, can you get it, Teal’c.”

Leaning forward, he removes a piece of folded bark, holding it carefully between thumb and forefinger so he doesn’t smear it with his sweaty hands. 

Carter uncurls it from around T’s forearm and hands the piece of bark up to the General. “You might want this, sir.” 

“Treaty?” Hammond inquires, taking it gingerly and holding it well away from his body, with only the tips of his fingers. It wafts gently in an unseen breeze. “Major?” he demands when the sheet climbs over his knuckles and curls around his wrist, inching, with determination, up his forearm.

“Yes, sir, it is the treaty.”

Hammond frowns down at us. “Is it sentient?”

“Well, now, that’s a good question.” I mop my face again with the hem of my t-shirt. “We’ve seen them use this for everything from clothing to firewood, sir.”

“It’s also the basis of their economy. They use it like money, sir; in some instances like a credit card,” Carter adds. 

“Credit card?” Hammond echoes, delicately peeling it off his shoulder. “I thought Lieutenant Woeste came back to find suitable paper for the treaty.” 

“He did, sir.” I wonder if the General would have a problem if we start shedding clothes right here in the Gate room. “What he brought back wasn’t suitable to the Ree-zoo-lins. Where’s Daniel?”

“Rezulins,” Carter inserts.

“That’s what I said. Rezulins, from the planet Rezula. Where it’s hotter than hell.” Except my comeback is drowned out when the overhead intercom zings and whistles to life - as if a small boy and a large dog were suddenly in charge of it. 

“Welcome back, SG-1!” the voice of the small boy exclaims exuberantly. 

Every head in the Gate room turns expectantly up toward the control room. Even the SF’s assigned in here crane their necks around, grinning at each other as they do so. 

It’s our kid. 

There’s not a boot jack, jarhead, flyboy, cook, technician or scientist in this Mountain he hasn’t wrapped around his little finger.

There’s a momentary pause and then over wild barking we hear someone prompting faintly in the background. 

This time Daniel’s face is visible above the bottom of the window, obviously standing on a chair in order to get enough height to wave with equal exuberance as he asks, “How did it go? Were the . . . what?” He looks over his shoulder, at whoever is holding on to him, I hope, before turning back and leaning into the mic. “Were the knee-go-she-oceans successful?”

“Beyond our most undomesticated envisioning, GeneralJackson,” Teal’c intones solemnly.”

“Oh, good. Can we come down now, Jack?” Daniel wants to know as I catch a glimpse of paws and flopping ears behind the iris control panel.

I slant a glance up at Hammond. “New Gate tech, sir?” And to Daniel, “You may greet us in the hallway, beyond the blast doors as is customary, Danieljackson.” I rise wearily, hand off my P-90 to the nearest weapons tech, and turn to give Carter a hand up. 

“Thanks,” she says, swiping the back of her arm across her forehead, which has the effect of spiking the bangs already plastered there. She returns my ineffectually hidden grin with a tired smile. “Yeah, you don’t look much better, sir.” 

She, too, hands off her weapon, as does Teal’c behind us, and we head for the blast doors toward the infirmary and cold showers.

“What concessions did we have to make, Major?” The General tags along, probably more interested in information than any Goa’uld that might be wrapped around our brain stems, or showers for that matter.

“Only to let them use their paper for the treaty, sir.” Carter points at the largish piece of bark still attempting to climb the General’s arm. “Lieutenant Woeste brought back our translation already, didn’t he?”

“SG-11 arrived back only a short time ago. Their debrief isn’t scheduled for another thirty minutes.”

“Well, he has it, sir.”

“Was there a reason you didn’t stay for the feast as you intended, Colonel?”

“We did, sir, stay for the feast that is. As soon as everybody was good and drunk we skedaddled to the Gate. It was too damn hot. Did I mention it was hotter than hell, sir?”

Loud barking, almost but not quite masking the sound of running feet, increases proportionate to the distance we’ve traveled toward the control room. I turn at the sound, barely in time to catch Daniel as he launches himself off the top step into my arms, followed by the dog, who rebounds off me and jumps up on Teal’c, still barking madly.

“Ooomph!”

“Hi, Jack! I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to get here! What took you so long to come home this time?”

“Hey, Sport.”

“Down, Hershey. Danieljackson, have you accomplished all that I left for you to do?”

“Uh huh. I did it extra quick, so that Hershey and me – ooops!” Daniel claps a hand over his mouth. “That’s a surprise. I did everything you left me, Teal’c.

“What’s a surprise?” I ask him.

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, now would it?” Daniel giggles, patting my cheek. “You have to be patient, Jack, until tomorrow. We’re all done for the day.”

“Hi, Daniel!” Carter leans in for a kiss. “I missed you!”

“Hi, Sam!” Daniel obliges by giving her a smacking kiss on the lips. “Mmmmm, what’s that flavor? Tastes like chocolate?”

“That’s because it’s Hot Chocolate.”

Well, the hot part matched this mission anyway.

There’s thirty seconds of barely controlled chaos as the hallway reverberates to the enthusiastic greetings and for those few moments with our kid, weariness drops away as though its reservations were cancelled, the tickets never booked. Daniel’s animation and pleasure in having us home breathes new life into us.

“Down, Hershey,” Teal’c repeats, and obligingly, the dog drops down on his butt and proceeds to grin engagingly up at our resident Jaffa.

I sigh. “Daniel, how come the dog doesn’t do that when you tell him to get down?”

Daniel just giggles. “Down, Hershey!” he orders, imitating Teal’c, drawing chuckles from everyone.

Hammond grins at our kid like a proud grandpa. “Daniel, do you want to wait for SG-1 in my office?”

“May I go with them to the infirmary, sir? Please? I promise I’ll stay out of the way. I won’t bother anybody.”

“You know what Doc Janet said about the dog,” the General warns.

“Yes, sir. I’ll put him in my office.”

“All right, then you may accompany SG-1, but mind you, no sneaking the dog in there again.”

“Yes, sir,” a chastened Daniel agrees, head bowed with something that looks suspiciously like . . . chagrin? 

Hmmmm, this promises to be an interesting debrief. 

“We missed you, Jack,” Daniel exclaims wrapping both arms around my neck and squeezing for all he’s worth as we resume our stroll toward the infirmary.

“Debrief in ninety minutes, people,” General Hammond calls over his shoulder as he heads back up the stairs into the control room.

“I missed you too. What’s the dog done this time? And how come he’s on base again? I thought we agreed he stays home now.”

“The neighbors said Hershey howled all day long. He’s just a baby, Jack, he doesn’t like being left alone. Plus, I miss him. General Hammond said as long as he’s not more disruptive than me, he can come. And he just ate some of Janet’s sponges is all. But he promised he won’t do it again.” Daniel leans as far back on my arm as he possibly can, reaching for Carter. “What are neg-go-she - oceans, Sam?” 

“Negotiations.” She swings him into her arms and snuffles his neck, eliciting peals of laughter and much head rolling from Daniel. “We were trading Earth things for the Rezulins’ trinium.”

“Like what?” 

The dog moves up in line with Carter who’s in front of me and behind Teal’c. 

“In this case we’re trading our engineering expertise. They need a viable way of getting water to their crops because there’s very little rain on their planet. Carrying buckets of water by hand doesn’t always get the job done.” She grabs the back of his head to hold him still and plants little kisses all over his face. “Miss me too?”

“Yes,” Daniel can barely get out the answer for giggling. “I missed you too, Teal’c.” He cricks his head against his shoulder to stop Carter’s snuffling so she switches to the other side of his neck. “Sam,” he giggles again, ineffectually scrunching both shoulders up around his ears.

“I missed you,” Carter snuffle snorts into his neck. “I think we need to clone you now, while you’re little, so when we get big Daniel back we’ll still have you too.”

“When, Carter?” I drawl. “Not if? You got some inside information you want to share with the rest of the class?” 

In the ensuing bedlam, my question gets lost; either that, or it’s intentionally ignored.

“Hershey!” Daniel and Carter chide together as the dog, apparently thinking he’s missing the fun, jumps up and manages to land both front feet on Carter’s thigh. He’s barking loud enough to wake the dead and while he may still be a baby, there’s enough weight behind those paws that he knocks them into the wall. 

“Bad dog, you’ll bring the Mountain down around us,” Daniel scolds. 

He thinks it’s funny now, but the first time he heard an adult say that it took days of reassurance to calm his fears. Carter came up with the bright idea of pulling up the Mountain schematics on his office computer to show him all the special contrivances built into this place. That finally convinced him. 

“He’s just excited everybody’s home finally,” Daniel informs us, grabbing a handful of Carter’s t-shirt as he turns to look over her shoulder. "Teal'c, did you bring me a present?"

"Indeed, Danieljackson. I believe you will find it most intriguing." 

“Hey,” Carter complains when Daniel bounces in her arms, “you’re getting a little big for that kind of stuff. I might drop you, you know.”

“Am I too heavy to carry anymore, Sam? You can put me down.”

“Nah, not quite. We’re going to have to find something to feed you though, to stunt your growth. I like you this way.”

“Saaammmm!” Daniel lifts his shoulder again, trying to anticipate where she’s going to attack. “I love you too. Is it something we can look at under the microscope, Teal’c?"

"You will not need a microscope to look at this, though you may wish to view it under one." 

Since our first trip through the Gate without adult Daniel, Teal’c’s been bringing back something this Daniel can study. He's made it a priority to find something new, be it flora, fauna, animal, vegetable, or mineral, every time we go off-world.

I found them in Carter's lab one afternoon, studying an oddly-veined leaf under one of her fancy microscopes. Instead of sap, there were tiny microscopic alien bugs scurrying through the veins of this leaf. Because Teal'c is so much more widely traveled than the rest of us, he could identify the leaf and knew it was harmless, though I still made them burn the thing when they were done. 

Today he's brought back a rock full of shiny bits of something that looks like gold. You can flake it off with your fingernail and crush it into powder. 

"Oh," Daniel says now, reverently, as he takes the rock Teal'c hands him and turns it over and over, examining it as though it were a rare and precious artifact. "Do they have lots of this?"

"There is a small vein of this rock running through the trinium deposits. The natives mine it for medicinal purposes."

"What's med-diss-inal? Does it have to do with medicine?" Daniel slides down Carter’s leg as we’re about to push through the infirmary doors. “I have to take Hershey upstairs. Janet won’t let him in the infirmary unless we’re . . .” he pauses very briefly, obviously trying to decide what to say, “doing stuff,” he rattles off, adding a quick, “I’ll be right back.” 

I push open the door to the infirmary and wave the rest of my team through, staying to watch Daniel grab the dog by the collar – the dog that’s now almost bigger than Daniel – and drag him toward the elevator. 

Hershey plants his paws, but can’t get any purchase on the slick floor, so Daniel has no trouble coercing him until they reach the elevator. Then the kid just scoots around behind and shoves him in, chattering the whole time. 

“You can only go in the infirmary when we’re working, you know that. You were bad; you chewed up all Janet’s surgical sponges. You better be glad she lets you come home with us still when we stay at her house. Otherwise you’d be locked up at home the whole time SG-1 is gone. With nobody to play with or anything . . .” his voice fades as the elevator dings and the kid and the dog disappear behind closed doors. 

“So,” Fraiser asks, tapping the three charts on her arm, “who’s first?”

“I’m thinking you might want us all to shower first, Doc,” I offer, pulling my t-shirt away from my chest as the door swings shut behind me.

She steps closer, sniffs, and steps back. “When you’re done,” she agrees, taking several more steps back.

“Hey, we weren’t at some debutante ball, we’ve been working!” I notice she’s using one of the charts like a fan as she retreats to her office. 

“Sam, you can use the shower down here,” the doc says, without even glancing over her shoulder.

“Thanks, Janet; I’ll go get my stuff.”

Since we share the locker room, even days the women get to go first, odd days the guys go first. Carter often showers down here in the infirmary on odd days. Somehow that doesn’t seem fair. 

“Ya know, Carter, you ought to get stuff to keep here instead of having to traipse back and forth.”

“I usually don’t mind traipsing back and forth,” she smirks when Teal’c lifts an eyebrow at her. 

She slides a hand under T’s elbow, another under mine, and we hit the infirmary doors three abreast, nearly doing the whiplash snake thing as we all slam on the brakes so we don’t run over Daniel.

“Where ya going?” he wants to know, giving us an odd look. 

Daniel’s downsizing has had an interesting effect on Carter. It’s still rare for her to behave this way with Teal’c and me in the Mountain. She’s much freer with Daniel - we all are actually - but she normally keeps it serious and professional with the two of us. 

Personally, I think that planet had some weird effect on us, besides the whole heat thing they have going. We’re all a little giddy this afternoon and it’s not just the giddiness that comes with exhaustion. 

I know I just want this day over and done with so we can go home. 

“To the showers, Danieljackson. Do you wish to accompany us?”

“Nah, I had a bath last night.”

“Then are you going to wait for us in the infirmary?” I have one of those uniquely out of time moments as a picture of Pete, Julie, and Linc suddenly overlays itself on top of a picture of the three of us. 

“What’s so funny?” Daniel demands, skipping around to my side where he latches on to my hand. “Now we’re all joined together,” he sing-songs, “just like we should be. What’s so funny?” he repeats.

“Nothing, just thinking of an old TV show. You’re coming after all?”

“Well,” he says philosophically, “guess I have to if I want to be with you, huh? What TV show?”

Like a dog with a bone. 

“We won’t be gone long, Sport.”

“I know, but you’ve already been gone five whole days and I missed you a lot. Besides, I can go get all the stuff you forget when you get in the shower.” And without missing a beat. “What TV show?”

“ _Mod Squad._ Know any more than you did before?”

“What’s a mod squad?”

“An old television show,” I repeat. “Now give it a rest, would you. What did you do while we were gone?”

Carter collects her stuff as Teal’c and I strip off our soaked shirts. We’re starting on our BDUs before she whisks herself out of the locker room, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 

Sheesh, Athelia’s been a bad influence on her. 

“What’s med-diss-inal, Teal’c?” Daniel repeats as he hands in the bottle of soap he’s retrieved from the bottom of my locker. 

I had nothing more on my mind than getting under the water. I grabbed whatever came to hand. 

“Hey, I forgot shampoo, too. See if you can root out that stuff Carter gave us.” I reek of smoke, rotten vegetables and unwashed humanity. Bathing is not a favored past time on P8X-227. I think my pores have absorbed the smells of the planet.

“Jaaaaaack,” Daniel whines, though I can hear the undercurrent of laughter as he pitter patters back out to the locker room. “What’s med-diss-inal?” he asks for the third time, having made a third trip to Teal’c’s locker for a towel. 

Guess neither of us was particularly worried about anything beyond getting out of our clothes and into the shower. 

“Does it have to do with medicine?” he asks again, straddling the bench in front of the showers, small, booted feet swinging inches off the floor.

"Yes, Danieljackson, it has to do with medicine,” Teal’c informs him, his rich baritone carrying easily over the blissful sound of cold water hitting hot bodies. “It is used as a type of tincture," he says, forestalling the next question by adding, "a tincture is made by combining one or more substances in a liquid suspension. On this planet they make it into a tea." 

“What’s a suspension?”

“In this case the suspension is the tea. I believe you and Majorcarter were mixing particles of naquadah into a suspension last week during your chemistry lesson. ”

“Ooohhhhhh,” he says, “I know what it is. Like the gooey stuff we put the naquadah in to control the temperature.”

“That is correct,” Teal’c agrees. “In this situation the tea acts as the mixing agent as well.” 

As we’re walking back to the infirmary, Teal’c takes the rock back, scratches it with a fingernail and rubs the gold between thumb and forefinger, holding out the rock, and his thumb, for Daniel to examine. 

"This dissolves in the tea and is utilized as a remedy for headaches and joint pain that accompany fever."

Daniel collects his newest artifact as he turns to walk backwards, grabbing hold of Teal’c’s gold-sheened thumb to examine it. Without warning he sticks his tongue out to taste it.

“Ewwww.” I make a face at both of them.

“What?” Daniel makes a face back. 

“You’re licking his finger.”

“I just wanted to see what it tasted like.”

“It is little different from the dog licking my fingers, O’Neill. And Danieljackson is astutely using all his senses to investigate something new. It will not hurt him to ingest it.”

“O-kay,” is all I have the nerve to say in response. 

“Teal’c, how come you never told us you know about all this stuff?" Carter overtakes us from the rear. She must have come around the back hall to put her things away.

Teal'c, it turns out, is quite the naturalist and has an extensive knowledge of herbs and their healing properties. 

"There has never been a need for this knowledge, Majorcarter. Your Tylenol is as efficacious as this tincture and considerably easier to ingest, as well as obtain. It requires careful preparation and a lengthy brewing period before it becomes effective. What did it taste like, Danieljackson?"

“Hmmm” Daniel says, lifting his arms to Carter who swings him up again. “It’s kind of sweet and sour at the same time. Does it taste better in the tea?” He turns the rock over and over until the tips of his fingers are slicked with the powdery stuff, then plants all five fingertips like a paw print on Carter’s forehead, grinning. "You look like you have a Jaffa tattoo now, Sam. I like this rock, Teal’c. Thank you." 

"You are most welcome, Danieljackson."

We shove through the doors into the infirmary again and head for separate beds, though we hang together at the top corner of the ward. 

Wonder if they leave these beds empty for us on purpose? It always seems to be where we end up, even when we’re not coming in under our own power.

"Much better,” Fraiser affirms, sniffing as she snaps on gloves and approaches the bed Carter's sitting on.

"Hey, Doc, why does Carter always get to go first?"

"Would you like to go first, Colonel?" She pulls a hypodermic out of her pocket and I lounge back against the head of the bed. 

"No, thanks. Any possibility you'll run out of those before you get to me if I offer to go last?"

"Not likely, sir," Janet says as she pulls the curtain. “Nice tattoo, Sam. Which system lord does it represent?”

Two beds over Teal'c and Daniel are still discussing the properties of the rock. To the background of their conversation, I close my eyes and drift. 

Spending several days on a planet like P8X-whatever produces something equivalent to our jet lag here on Earth. Their days are longer than ours, much like Abydos, though they cycle at around thirty hours instead of thirty-six; however, their nights are about the same. I always come home from these missions feeling like I've been rode hard and put away wet. 

"You look tired," Daniel says, as I open my eyes to find both Carter and Teal'c gone and the Doc looming over me. 

Daniel's sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, wearing the fatigue jacket I threw over the rolling tray table when we first came in here. I never even felt him climb up.

Ask me why we took fatigue jackets to a planet where we knew the mean temperature was over 100 degrees? Clueless on that one. The only time I touched it was to put my present for Daniel in the pocket and it still doesn’t smell like a bed of roses. 

"Something up, Colonel? You feeling okay?" Fraiser inquires as I creak and groan my way to a sitting position. 

No, but I want to go home. 

"Fine," I straighten, feeling like an un-greased, rusty Tinman as I shove my feet to the floor. "Just tired."

"Not as young as you used to be?" Doc starts the usual once over.

I just grunt. There’s something about having a seven-year-old Daniel that makes me feel - older somehow - like I've swallowed a bunch of nanocytes and aged ten years overnight. But that’s not it today.

"What did you bring me?" the cause of my grey hair asks.

Teal'c's not the only one who always brings him things. Teal'c, however, brings back stuff that's educational. Mine's just for fun. Daniel now has the beginnings of an impressive collection of alien toys ranging from relatively primitive to quite sophisticated. He likes to bury them in the sandbox and pretend he's excavated them from various exotic locations. 

"It's a totem." 

He especially likes things with stories attached to them and this is good for at least two or three nights of bedtime story telling. 

His eyes light up. "Where? Can I see?"

"Right side pocket." 

Janet motions me up and tells me to drop my pants as she prepares the hypodermic. 

Daniel drags the pocket around where he can root in it with both hands and pulls out a small carving. It’s the work of a master craftsman, and, though it’s carved out of stone, it is an exceptionally detailed piece of art depicting the Rezulins’ deities. 

"Ohhhh," he says. 

I'm finally beginning to get a handle on the different ohs in his vocabulary. This is his ohhhhh of great pleasure. There's the ooooohhhh of despondency, usually when he's not allowed to do something he wants, the ooohhhhh of surprise that occasionally gets startled out of him, and then there's the oohh of fascination that's repeated over and over as he examines some rare find - which is nearly everything he picks up.

Deprivation is clearly in the eye of the beholder. It's pretty amazing when you think about it, how deprived we would consider this child's life to have been. But even our adult Daniel believed he'd had a magical childhood up until a few days before he turned eight. 

This incarnation of Daniel - literally transported in time from an Egyptian campsite where the only source of light, beside the sun, was oil lanterns, where electricity came from a temperamental generator that ran only on Tuesdays and Fridays, where most of their food was cooked by an ancient Egyptian over an open fire, and the only escape from the sweltering heat was to take shelter in the tombs – this incarnation of Daniel is fascinated by everything. 

Yeah, yeah, like the other one wasn’t?

This one, however, is especially fascinated by light switches and running water. 

"MRI, Colonel, and then you're done,” Fraiser says as I button up and cinch my belt.

I crook a knee on the bed and sit back down in front of Daniel. "What does this look like to you?" I touch the bottom animal. 

"A bear?" Daniel asks, looking up at me. He holds the totem out to Janet. "Look what Jack brought me from P8X-XYZ." 

All his planet designations end in XYZ. He can remember the first three numbers and letters; for some reason the last three always escape him. I suppose since he’s not traveling regularly through the Gate he could care less about planet designations. 

Adult Daniel could quote both the numeric and alpha designation for every planet we’ve been to, probably give you the Stargate address, too, if needed.

Janet puts down my chart to take it in both hands and examine it to Daniel's satisfaction. He doesn't tolerate shoddy show and tell. If you don't give something the attention it deserves, he makes certain every nook and cranny is pointed out with lengthy erudition on each feature. 

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating; it’s been fascinating to see the origins of some of adult Daniel’s more endearing habits. 

This isn’t one of them.

"It does look like a bear sitting on its hindquarters," Janet says, smiling as she hands the totem back to him. "Bring it with you next time you come to stay with me. I'd like to hear all about it, but I don't have time now, okay?"

"Okay." Daniel hops down off the bed and tags along as I head for the final stop on this particular welcome-home infirmary tour. 

SG-11 coming in barely ahead of us has thrown our usual routine all out of whack.

"Does the bear have a name?" he inquires.

"That's Watoomah in the Rezulins’ mythology. Watoomah is the spirit of the land; he has dominion over the things of the Earth. He’s at the bottom because he was the first one, he gave power to the other two. Can you tell what this is?" I reach to touch the elongated middle creature.

Daniel studies the second carving closely, before shaking his head. "It looks kind of like a cross between and elephant and a giraffe, but with wings."

"This is Carlichich. I'm probably not saying that right, you should ask Teal'c for the correct pronunciation, the spirit of the air. She has dominion over the birds and all the other creatures that fly and there are some strange flying creatures on this planet."

"What kinds of creatures?" Daniel immediately wants to know.

"Well, they sort of look like small dragons or very large fireflies, I suppose. We only saw itty, bitty ones," I spread my thumb and forefinger as far apart as they will go, "but the Rezulins said they can be as big as ten or twelve feet long.”

“How big is that?”

"About as long as the table in the briefing room. The Rezulins use them for lighting their homes at night. They have specially built containers they catch and keep the smaller ones in then, then use them like lamps.”

“Ooooo, did you bring me one of those?”

The technician is just finishing with Teal'c and instructs me to assume the position. Thankfully this isn't the proctologist. I lie down on the tray that will slide me into the machine.

“No, they require special care and feeding, besides I doubt they’d thrive in our cold, dark – at least to them – environment here.”

"You sound funny when you're inside that machine." 

I can just see Daniel's face, peering around the rim of the tube. 

"Does it hurt when you go inside there?" He's turned away now, so he must have turned back to ask the tech, "How does it take pictures of your insides through your outsides?"

By the time the tech has given him a simple explanation of how the machine works, I'm done, and Daniel's allowed to pull the tray back out. He thinks it's pretty cool he's strong enough to save me from the man-eating machine. 

"Does that make you cooler?" He checks my body temperature by laying a hand on my forehead like we all do to him when we think he's not feeling well. "You feel cooler now."

"Standing under the cold shower helped," I respond, extricating myself from under his cool little hand as I slide off the tray. 

I'm pronounced Goa'uld-free and scoop up Daniel in order to make time on the way to the briefing room. Not that I feel like making time anywhere, but the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go home. 

He settles in the crook of my arm, tilts his head as he looks at the totem again from a different angle, and runs a small finger over the artist's depiction of a cross between an elephant and a giraffe; Daniel was dead on in his description. It hovers vertically above the bear, lacey wings outspread, balancing on its tail between the bear’s ears, while poised on the intricately carved triangular head squats something that looks like an octopus, its tentacles splayed around it. 

The tentacles look incredibly delicate, and I wanted to be sure they wouldn't break easily, so I jiggled one a bit. The stone, even carved as thin as these tentacles, is unbreakable. Carter thinks it may have trinium components in it. It’s also carved from a stone out of that vein of rock Teal’c described. The deities are speckled with gold, though this carving has been coated in something, because unlike Daniel’s rock, the gold doesn’t come off on your hands.

"That looks like an octopus."

"It is and they call her Orinea."

"Oh, then she must have dominion over the sea and the water."

"You got it. What are you going to do while I'm debriefing?"

"Can't I go with you?"

"Yes, but you have to be quiet."

"Okay, I'd rather go with you. Did you have a good time while you were gone? Did you get to do any fishing?"

"I always have a good time, Daniel, I like my job.” 

Well, usually. This mission isn’t going down in the record books as the best ever and I certainly won’t be recommending it to anyone thinking of retiring off-world. But it had its moments. 

“No, I didn't get to do any fishing and I missed you lots, Sport."

"I missed you too. I like it better when we go home every night."

"Me too," I agree. 

We're the last ones into the briefing room and Carter's already started. I pull out a chair across from her and Teal'c, snag one of the legal pads and search my pockets for a pen or pencil as I sit us down. Teal'c pushes a lead pencil across the table toward us when I can't find one. 

This debriefing takes some time and eventually Daniel climbs out of my lap and over to a chair of his own, kneeling up on the edge so he can reach the paper better. I put an arm on the arm rest, just as a precaution. 

SG-11’s anthropologist told us the Rezulin culture is similar to what would have been a hunter-gatherer society. The village where we were was their summer home. According to their chief, they migrate in the autumn to an area where there is more game. Their homes are a bit like wickiups, though instead of thatch or leaves, they use some kind of canvas stretched over lightweight frames. 

Half a day’s walk from the village is a lake that’s got to be at least 300 acres, with nice sandy beaches, shallows teeming with small fish - leading one to believe there are probably much larger fish out deeper - and according to Carter’s tests, potable without having to use filtration tablets on it, though we didn’t bother to test that assumption.

Yet the Rezulins refused to even consider letting us move them closer to the lake. Weinstein, SG-11’s anthropologist, says it has something to do with the legend of Orinea, their water sprite – spirit - whatever. 

The lake appeared to be spring fed and had many small tributaries, like Orinea’s many wriggling arms, extending into the surrounding lands. The nearest was still ten miles away and that’s where the Rezulins go for water. Every day. With an ox-cart, though their cattle look like something crossbred to be part ox, part ass, and part mastidge. Ears like a donkey, shaggy coat like a mastidge, but built along the lines of an ox. 

You’d think, with a well-stocked lake within walking distance, fish would be a dietary staple. Not. Which is why I didn’t get any fishing in; there was plenty of time. Apparently the fish are sacred and forbidden to anyone but Watoomah. Personally, I think the old boy’s just looking out for his own interests. 

"Colonel? Anything to add?"

"Only that we need to get those food shipments back to them as quickly as possible, sir. They're a good three months into this hot, dry cycle and their crops are withering in the fields. They've been on short rations for a couple of months already. Edwards seemed to think getting an irrigation system in place, along with a viable source of water directly to the village, was feasible.”

“Colonel Edwards says his team already has an idea of how they’re going to do it.” The General closes his briefing folder. “They’ll be returning to Rezula as soon as they’ve had a chance to assess the aerial surveys the UAV sent back and come up with a workable way to implement their plan.”

“They have a time frame?”

“Lieutenant Menard believes the villagers will lend support to the cause. In which case he believes they can have a system up and running inside of a week. Was that your assessment as well, Colonel?”

“Yes, sir. They’re definitely willing to supply able bodies. In fact, I’d highly recommend we employ the villagers exclusively in any labor intensive jobs. They’re used to the climate, sir. It’s going to be wicked wielding a pick and a shovel in those temperatures for any length of time.”

“So noted, Colonel. Major Carter already made arrangements for supplies to be packed and sent through. They should be headed to the Gate room," the General glances at his watch, "just about now."

“Oh, good,” Daniel pipes up, flourishing his finished picture in my face. “Are we done here? Does that look like Watoomah, Jack?”

While he is occasionally frustrated by his lack of fine motor skills, you would never know this was the drawing of a seven-year-old. 

The totem joins the sketch approximately three inches in front of my face. I’ve learned to tolerate it.

“Daniel.” 

“Sorry,” he says offhandedly, stretching his arms out so both carving and paper are now at least a foot away from my face. 

“We haven’t been dismissed, we’re not done, and you’re interrupting.” 

We’ve been working on this for a while now - he still doesn’t get it.

“Oh.” His ass smacks down on his ankles, the picture flutters to the top of the table, and the totem gets pulled into his chest. “Sorry,” he says again, this time with genuine contrition. 

“You must be anxious to get home, son.” The General smiles benevolently on our kid as he retrieves the fallen picture. “Good work, Daniel, you’ve really captured the bear.”

He has. In just a few pencil strokes he’s captured the essence of the Rezulins’ land spirit, but then, adult Daniel was quite a talented artist. We went a couple of frustrating rounds, early on, when this incarnation couldn’t make the picture on paper match the picture he kept trying to tell me he was seeing in his mind. 

Turns out it was really a matter of perspective – things look different to him now; bigger, bulkier, more intimidating in many circumstances. 

It was a real lesson for me too. 

Nothing intimidated adult Daniel. For cryin’ out loud, he made friends with the Unas that kidnapped him, even managed to snag an invite to join his clan. 

“Hey, Sport, we talked about this before we came in here, remember?”

“It’s fine, Colonel,” Hammond interrupts. “We’re done, no need to drag this out. Good job, SG-1.” He nods at each of us as he stands, bringing Carter and me to our feet as well. 

Daniel shoves his chair back from the table with both hands. 

“Are we going now, Jack? I have to go get Hershey if we are.” 

“Why don’t you go get the dog, I’ll be ready to leave in a couple of minutes, okay? Meet me in my office. Don’t forget your picture.”

He grabs both the picture and the totem by the time half the sentence is out of my mouth, scrambles down, and scampers out of the briefing room, hollering something I can’t make out over his shoulder.

“What?”

“He said, ‘Hershey did not intend to do it,’” Teal’c translates.

I look to the General again. “Surgical sponges, sir?”

Hammond just shakes his head, resuming his seat at the table. “If you have a moment?” 

We all resume our seats. 

“I thought you’d want to see this one.” He reaches for the remote on the briefing table, turns his chair around and aims at the star map, converting it to a high resolution video screen.

It’s the security footage of the criminal and the co-conspirator who snuck him into the infirmary. Apparently Fraiser had Daniel-duty this particular morning. Based on the video feed we’re watching, the twerp is clearly engrossed in his school work and has totally forgotten the dog. 

And a bored Hershey is a bad dream come to life. It takes the dog two minutes to demolish the doc’s monthly supply of surgical sponges, along with the cardboard box they were delivered in, and another two minutes to spread the pieces up and down the aisle between the beds in the main infirmary.

“So you made Daniel clean it up, sir?”

“Of course, oversaw the whole process myself.” Hammond deliberately punches the security disc out of the machine. 

Odds are the next bit of footage shows a two-star general helping to clean up dog-slimed sponges.

“Dr. Fraiser banned them both from the infirmary; however, she had so many complaints from her patients I believe she lifted the ban after only twenty-four hours.”

“Her patients, sir?” Carter asks.

“Apparently Daniel and Hershey have become a two-man USO show down there. Were you aware Daniel’s been teaching the dog tricks, Jack?”

Uh oh! Remind me to act surprised. 

“Sure. He’s taught him to roll over, play dead, and sit up and beg. Who got him the hoola hoop by the way?”

“I did,” Carter replies. “Why?”

“Just so you know, I found him pouring gas over it in the driveway so he could light it on fire for Hershey to jump through.”

Her face pales. “He wouldn’t.”

I raise an eyebrow. “The gas can is now locked away, Major.”

“Sir, I’m sorry. I never thought . . . I can’t believe Daniel would do something like that.”

“They saw it on TV. He is only seven, Major.”

“I understand they put on quite a show at least once a day down in the infirmary,” Hammond interrupts diplomatically. “Though I haven’t heard anything about flaming hoola hoops. Dr. Fraiser has indicated it’s a great morale booster among the patients.”

“Is he charging?”

Hammond laughs. “Not yet, but I wouldn’t give him any ideas, Colonel. With the popularity of the show, he may demand the Mess be turned into an auditorium next. And you know Siler would be on it in a heartbeat.”

A smile flutters around the table, even quirking up Teal’c’s lips.

Hammond pushes back, not bothering to dismiss us this time. 

I notice his gaze lingering curiously on Carter as we all push back from the table and stand again. 

“Just curious, Major . . .”

“Sir?” Carter inquires when he trails off.

I snort as I realize it’s the gold fingerprints in the middle of her forehead that’s caught his attention.

“To which system lord have you offered your allegiance?”

Carter smiles self-consciously and gingerly touches a finger to her tattoo. “This would be Lord Daniel’s mark, sir.” The tip of her finger now sports a gold sheen as well.

“Ahhh, I see.” The General nods. 

I can tell he’s impressed Carter didn’t immediately wipe it off. Frankly, so am I. 

“I’ll see you all in the morning,” he says, disappearing into his office.

Probably indulging in a good long laugh.

“I’m going to go collect Lord Daniel and his court jester and head home.” I have to lean on the back of the chair as I push it in; the room is suddenly spinning strangely. “You guys coming over tonight?” 

“Unless you require my presence, O’Neill, I believe I shall retire to my quarters and spend an evening in kel’no’reem.”

“I’ve got a ton of things to do tonight to catch up, sir.” 

Good. Everybody’s accounted for and we won’t be entertaining tonight. Not that we have to entertain when Carter and Teal’c are over. 

However, since I feel like shit, this is definitely a good thing. I should probably stop back by the infirmary and let Fraiser know – but Daniel and Hershey want to go home. They’ll either be stuck here on base or have to go home with the Doc again if she won’t cut me loose. 

I figure it’s probably a slight case of heat exhaustion – nothing an hour on the couch and a couple of cold brews won’t fix.

Carter’s shower must have really invigorated her; she’s the only one of us with any pep. Even Teal’c’s usual precise movements are a bit blurry, which makes me feel better. It’s not just me feeling the effects of five days in unrelenting 110 degree heat.

Hershey and Daniel circle the truck as I unlock the doors and get in. 

This has become a twice daily ritual. The dog has to sniff the tires morning and evening, make sure his scent is still there – oh, must be wearing off on the left front tire, he lifts his leg to rechristen that one – before he can get in the truck. We’re required to leave the house ten minutes early in case the previous evening’s anointing hasn’t lasted through the night.

“Come on, guys.” I press the button to roll the window down. “Hershey, get in the truck. Daniel, get the dog in the truck,” I snap, anxious to be on our way. 

“What’s the matter?” Daniel asks, shoving the dog into the back seat and climbing up on the front seat to give me the hairy eyeball. “You okay?”

“Just get in your seatbelt. Please,” I tack on belatedly, if still impatiently. “I’m tired, Daniel, I just want to get home.”

Without another word he crawls into the back seat and I hear the snap of the seatbelt. 

When I glance in the rearview mirror the dog has his head in Daniel’s lap and Daniel’s fingers are buried deep in Hershey’s fur. I swear there’s some kind of symbiotic relationship between those two. The dog is incredibly sensitive to the kid’s moods. 

“Are we stopping for bread and milk?” a small voice from the back seat intrudes on my musings. 

It’s one of our rituals after a long off-world trip. We always stop at the small corner market to pick up fresh fruit, bread and milk on our way home. 

However, I don’t usually feel like shit and I’m debating stopping at all, except there’s probably nothing edible in the house. 

We could do pizza tonight, and I suppose we could stop somewhere on the way to work in the morning . . . 

I make the turn and pull into the pocket-sized parking area.

It’s much harder to do anything like that now with the dog. He’s a great guard dog, but Hershey worries worse than I do if Daniel’s out of his sight, so we either have to go places we can take the dog, or leave him home. 

“Hey, Sport. Why don’t you and Hershey go in and get what you want.” I scrounge for my wallet in the glove compartment. 

Our cover story here, because this was one of adult Daniel’s haunts, is that this incarnation is adult Daniel’s nephew, named for his uncle, staying with me while his uncle and parents are out of the country. 

It’s the cover story we’ve been using at home with the neighbors too. Since they all think we’re a weird bunch anyway, they just shake their heads and mutter about that O’Neill household. 

“You’re not coming in?” Daniel’s already out and takes the wallet, scrunching his nose suspiciously. “Wait, Hershey,” he yells, as the dog bounds through the wide open doors. 

This is the only grocery store Hershey is allowed to go in. It’s run by an old Armenian couple who adore both incarnations of Daniel and because they are from the old country and used to dogs everywhere, all the neighborhood dogs are in and out of this place. 

Hershey would like it for that fact alone, but the old man feeds Hershey treats while his wife plies Daniel with gata and kataifi - delicacies he remembers from his first childhood. 

The kid and the dog run a great scam every time we stop in here, though I suppose if the marks know they’re being hustled by a pair of shameless con artists, it doesn’t really count as scamming, does it? 

And, yeah, if the Health Department ever gets wind of the way the place is run, they’ll be shut down for sure. So it’s kind of like a big neighborhood secret. 

I sigh without realizing it, until Daniel gives me the look again. “Do you need me to?” 

“Are you tired of coming here?”

“No, Daniel, I’m just tired, period. Do you need me to come in or can you handle this?”

A ghost of emotion flickers briefly across the small face looking up at me, then he shakes his head and smiles brightly. “It will be just like when I was big, huh? All by myself?” 

He squares his shoulders as he steps backward down off the running board, and with a little wave and a grin, uses both hands to slam the door shut. He disappears from view for a second, then reappears in front of the truck, waving again over his shoulder, bright smile firmly fixed in place. 

I should have gone with him. I forget - because there were no strangers in adult Daniel’s realm of existence – this incarnation is a little shy. 

But he’s over the threshold already, tugging at the pile of market baskets stacked haphazardly by the entrance. He bounces back a couple of steps when the stuck basket he’s chosen finally lets loose, catches his balance, then takes a moment to survey the store. 

With a last look, and another wave for me, he skips to the fruit bins and stands on tiptoe to look over the crate of oranges on display. He can’t quite reach the one he wants, so he bounces a little on his toes, stretching his fingers, and I hold my breath, hoping the entire display doesn’t come crashing down around him.

The barely tickled orange obligingly rolls towards him, though, and the next one he selects is within reach. 

I close my eyes on another sigh. 

My internal clock is usually very good at keeping time, but I have no idea how long I sit, elbows on the steering wheel, eyes closed, with my head in my hands, before the truck door opens on the passenger side.

“Colonel?” It’s Mrs. Hagopian. “The little one says you not well?” She looks me over with a practiced maternal eye. 

“I’m fine, just tired, Mrs. H. I’ve been out of the country for a few days.”

“Yes, so Dan’i’el tell me.” She gives his name the same lifted lilt the Abydonians did; however, she distinctly pronounces the ‘i’, very unlike the Abydonians. 

She lets me take the brown paper bags she’s carrying, the ones too heavy for Daniel, then points a gnarled finger at me. “You wait.” 

Mrs. H disappears, but Daniel and Hershey are coming out of the store now. Hershey’s wearing a pair of tied-together plastic bags, like saddle bags, padding gingerly so as not to disturb his burden. 

Daniel hefts his three plastic bags onto the front seat and shoves them toward me. “Mama H has something she wants to give you. She said to tell you not to leave yet.” He slides my wallet across the seat as well, before turning to collect Hershey’s bags and swinging them deftly onto the floor on the front passenger side. 

“What ya got there, Sport?” 

“Oh, that’s bones Papa H saved for Hershey. He made them into little saddle bags so Hershey could carry them himself. Wasn’t that cool?” Daniel climbs up into the back seat and snaps his fingers at the dog. “Come on, get in Hershey.”

Hershey, who has his paws up on the running board and is now sniffing the very interesting packages he was carrying, hops up obediently and settles on the back seat next to Daniel.

“Such a good dog.” Mrs. H is back and she reaches across the front seat to hand me a large plastic canister of something hot. “Keep upright,” she says, patting my hand. “You eat. Feel better.”

“Chicken soup?”

She smiles - a wide smile showing a couple of gold-capped teeth. “Chick’n soup, Col’o’nel. No’ting like American soup-in-a-can. Pah!” She smiles graciously, pats my hand again and repeats, “You eat. Feel better. _Arvohr_ , you need?” She peers around the back of the seat at Daniel. “You call. We deliver.”

Daniel rattles off something that turns her fond look into a smile of delight. She reaches a gnarled hand to pat Daniel’s knee and he pokes his face out to kiss her on the cheek. 

“ _Bachig_ ,” she says, tapping her kissed cheek as she winks at me. “Bachig.” 

“Kiss,” I repeat dutifully. “ _Bachig_ – kiss.”

“Thank you,” Daniel says in English, patting the hand still on his knee. “You’re the best, Mama Hagopian.”

“He is good boy. You be proud uncle.” She closes the door before I can think of a response, rises up on tiptoe and taps the window, miming eating soup, then shakes that finger at me again.

“Yes, ma’am.” I smile and pat the soup container nestled between two bags of groceries. “You in your seatbelt, Sport?”

“Yeah,” Daniel replies, nose pressed to the window as he waves goodbye. “What’s the matter with her hands, Jack?”

I have an instant mental picture of the gnarled hand nestling the soup between the two bags and tapping on the window. 

“Arthritis probably.”

“What’s arthritis?”

“Arthritis is inflammation of the joints. Some people, like Mrs. H, get it in the joints in their fingers. It makes their fingers swell so it becomes difficult to use them individually.”

“Does it hurt?”

Hmmmm, how to answer this without shooting up my Littlest Ancient’s angst level.

“Arthritis is no fun, but the pain can usually be controlled.”

“Does it hurt all the time?” he asks anxiously. 

“Depends on how severe it is.”

He mulls this over for several seconds. “It looks kind of bad, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know, Daniel, if it’s really bad, it seems to me Mrs. H has learned to compensate for it.”

“What’s compensate?”

“She gets around the handicap somehow. You’d never know her hands are mostly crippled.”

“Crippled?” 

Oh, bad choice of words, O’Neill. “Daniel, can we have this discussion some other time. My head hurts right now and I can hardly think straight.”

“Okay,” he says, still staring out the window. He’s quiet for a bit, then suddenly, without preamble, announces, “That was fun, I didn’t really want to do it, but I’m glad I did.”

“I’m sorry, Sport.” I glance back in the rearview mirror. “I shouldn’t have asked you to.”

Another moment or two of introspection passes and he says reflectively, “I think you can’t always make it safe for me, Jack.”

Oh joy.

I’m having a hard enough time concentrating on driving without having to carry on a theoretical conversation with a seven-year-old. Beyond that, I don’t want to have this conversation with Daniel. As long as he’s little, I can and will make things safe for him – except I didn’t just now. 

Which isn’t logical – of course he was safe. I knew he was safe or I would never have let him go in there alone. But in Daniel’s mind, he wasn’t. 

And I so can’t deal with this debate right now. 

“Can we maybe talk about this in the morning too?” 

A horn honks behind us. While I’ve been watching Daniel in the rearview mirror, the light’s turned green. I slip gears, accidentally grind the clutch, and curse fluently in Swahili, one of the few languages Daniel doesn’t speak and just one of many in which I can swear fluently. 

He’s smiling ruefully when I look back again and gives me that squint-eyed, ‘I know what you’re doing, but I’m not going to call you on it,’ look. It’s part of our new short-hand language.

“I’ll get the stuff,” he says as we pull into the driveway and I reach for the garage door opener. “You go lie down.”

“I’m fine, Daniel. I can help carry the groceries.” 

I stab the button to close the garage door behind us, enclosing us in the semi-gloom of a late April afternoon. 

At least, I think I can help carry groceries. Just to be on the safe side, I make a production out of gathering things up so Daniel and the dog are already going in through the kitchen door before I get out of the truck. 

I don’t know if it’s the overpowering whiff of diesel fumes in the confined space, or just standing up, but the garage becomes a kaleidoscope of mesmerizing colors; or they would be if I were on an acid trip. 

I grip my fingers tightly in the brown paper bags and lean against the side of the truck. 

I just need . . . a minute . . . or ten. 

Breathing deeply through my mouth, I take a tentative step forward, find solid ground, and step out with more assurance. 

I can do this. I’m just tired . . . just tired, just tired, just tired rolls around echoingly inside my brain. 

“O’Neill,” I tell myself sharply, “you’ve got a kid, get your act together.” I kick the door open, since both hands are full, and dump the grocery bags on the counter just inside the door. “Think I am going go sit down for a few minutes. Leave out what you can’t put away, I’ll take care of it later.”

Daniel is already busily trotting around the kitchen putting things away, while Hershey munches happily on a bone that looks like it came from one of adult Daniel’s pet Abydonian mastidges. 

“Okay, but I think I can get everything.”

I have every intention of sitting, but my body has a different idea. Either that or the sofa acquired human magnets while I was gone; it sucks me down the second I’m within range. Before I realize it, I’m half sprawled on the dang thing, one foot on the floor, the other propped against the coffee table.

I can hear both Daniel and the dog in the kitchen. 

“Daniel? What are you doing?” I ask as I hear the distinctive hum of the microwave a few minutes later.

“Heating stuff up,” Daniel calls. “Jack? Where are the crackers? Do we have any?”

“Why? What are you doing?” I ask again, making an effort to rise. Umm, not happening anytime soon.

“Looking for crackers,” he responds and I hear a kitchen chair being dragged across the tile floor.

“Why?” 

“Because.” 

The chair creaks, as does a pantry shelf as he leans on it. 

“If you can’t reach them without climbing up the shelves, you damn well better eat bread, my little mountain goat,” I holler, sliding an arm over my eyes. 

Strangely enough, I don’t have a headache, but that’s the only part of me that doesn’t ache. I’m beginning to think this may be more than a simple case of heat exhaustion.

“I don’t want crackers,” Daniel laughs, and I hear the box hit a couple of shelves, the back of the chair, and then the floor. If that was the crackers, we likely only have cracker crumbs now. 

A moment later, I hear a pair of small boots clatter to the floor, and the chair scrapes back over the tile. There’s a satisfied snort, the microwave opens and closes, and a few more seconds of Daniel’s pattering footsteps, then silence for a moment before I identify the sound of boots scuffing over the carpet. 

I move my arm to find Daniel laboriously shuffling toward me with the slightly melted plastic container of soup, a sleeve of saltines, a bottle of domestic brew, an opener, and a soup spoon, all on a tray. 

“Ouch!” He bites the tip of his protruding tongue as he stumbles a little and puts the tray down in a rush on the coffee table. “I think I was supposed to pour the soup into something else, huh?” He touches the tip of his finger to his tongue and wipes it on his jeans.

“Bleeding?”

“Nah.”

“Daniel?”

“Not enough to count. Besides, can’t put a bandaid on it.”

“Let me see.”

“Jack,” he rolls his eyes.

“Come here.” I grab his hand and pull him over. “Let me see,” I repeat, catching his chin. 

He sticks his tongue out at me, making a face. 

“Get some ice, it will keep the swelling down, and be sure to run some water over the ice cube before you stick your tongue on it.”

He comes back looking like a chipmunk and plops his ass down on the coffee table next to the tray he’s just provided. “A’ren’ you gon’ eat?” he garbles, around the mouthful of ice.

I close my eyes again. “Thanks, Sport, you went to a lot of trouble and I appreciate it, but I don’t feel much like eating right now. Maybe later?”

“Okay. Can I have popcorn?”

“Sure, but wouldn’t you rather have pizza? Or how about that Mediterranean place that delivers? If you’ll get me the phone and tell me what you want, I’ll place the order, okay?” I open my eyes to find him regarding me warily. 

“Are you sick?” he asks worriedly. “Should I call Sam or Teal’c? Should I call Janet?”

“Nah,” I parrot him, “Come here.” I slide an arm around his waist and pull him toward me. “Lie down here with me for a few minutes. I need a cuddle. I really missed you this time.” I have to let him go to sit up and unlace my hiking boots enough to yank them off before lying back down. “Come on up,” I scooch over and pat the couch.

“You know you say that every time, don’t you?” He crawls up beside me and stretches out so he’s pressed against my side. His head goes down on my shoulder and one small arm stretches across my throat to curve a hand around the back of my neck. 

“What? That I really missed you this time? Nope, didn’t realize I do.” I shrug. “It’s true every time.”

There’s silence for a bit, then Daniel shifts slightly and I can feel him digging in his pocket. The rock comes out and like a magician he manipulates it between his fingers until they’re covered with gold dust. “Teal’c says these rocks have med-disssss-in-al properties,” he says, elongating the ssss as he smudges his gold-dust covered fingers in the middle of my forehead. “It made Sam look right again.”

“Made her look right?”

“Maybe this will make you look right, too, and help you feel better.”

“Mmmm,” I murmur, sliding towards oblivion. “What do you mean look right?”

“Go to sleep,” Daniel says, sliding his arm back across my throat and around the back of my neck. “You’ll see when you wake up.”

All soldiers eventually learn to sleep when and where they can snatch a few minutes of rest. I drift off, secure in the knowledge that for the moment at least, my little corner of the universe is safe. 

A faintly familiar voice eventually works it way through the layers of sleep. I lay still listening for several seconds before recognition yanks me the rest of the way to consciousness and stretch tentatively as I turn on my side. 

Ummm, less aches. This is good.

“You’re watching _The Simpsons_?” Surely I’m dreaming; cartoons are so not Daniel’s thing.

The kid and the dog are sprawled together on the floor. From this angle I’m not sure who’s lying on whom. 

Daniel looks over his shoulder at me and smiles. “Feel better?” he inquires.

“Yeah,” I cover a yawn as I sit up. “I do. I’m even hungry. Did you get enough to eat?” See? I knew an hour on the couch would do the trick.

“Yep. I’ll warm up the soup again.” 

I think the dog was lying on the kid because Hershey rolls sideways with a snort as Daniel pushes up off the floor.

“I’m good. I’ll get it. Anything I need to put away you couldn’t reach? What’d you eat?”

“We got it all put away while you slept. We had pears and popcorn. Jack? Is Bart Simpson an alien?”

“No, why?”

“Then why is he yellow? I understand why the sponge is yellow; he’s a sponge. But a yellow kid?” 

He follows me into the kitchen, where I exchange the now warm bottle of beer for a cold one from the fridge.

“It’s a cartoon, Daniel. The creator thought Bart Simpson would look cool yellow.”

“So he’s not an alien?”

“No, he’s not an alien.”

“Okay. I’m tired; can me and Hershey go to bed now?”

“Hershey and I,” I reply automatically. “Is Hershey tired too?”

“Nah, Hershey never gets tired, but that’s because all the time I’m not playing with him he’s sleeping.”

“Growing puppies need lots of rest.”

“Just like growing boys,” Daniel says with a grin. “Will you come and read to us?”

“Yep. Want me to run water for your bath?”

“Can I skip a bath tonight? Since I had one this morning at Janet’s?”

“I thought you said that was last night.”

“Oh, yeah, it was. But I don’t want to get in the bathtub tonight.”

“Okay, I’ll be up as soon as I’ve had some of Mrs. H’s soup.”

“’k. Come on, Hershey. Let’s get ready for bed. If you’re good Jack might let you lie on the bed while he tells us a story about the totem. Do you want to hear about Watoomah or Orinea? Or maybe you want to hear about the dragon flyers that look like Carlichich. Jack looked better didn’t he, when he woke up? Did you notice . . .”

The sound of his voice trails off as they make the turn into the bedroom and I hear only the soft murmur of the one-sided discourse as I reheat the soup, retrieve it from the microwave and dump half the sleeve of cracker crumbs in it for texture. I’ve never been a big fan of soup. 

Either I’m hungrier than I thought, or Mrs. H was right – this is nothing like American soup-in-a-can. It’s delicious and I empty the container, as well as the sleeve of crackers, and scarf down half the loaf of bread Daniel bought as well. 

Rezula would be a paradise for dieters and fans of weight loss by sauna; it was too damn hot to be interested in eating. 

So having digested half the kitchen - all right for cryin’ out loud, for all of you realists in the crowd, half the contents of the kitchen counter, good enough? - I make my way down the hall to Daniel’s room feeling much more like participating in the usual long, drawn-out process that is bedtime in this house.

On a good night it takes forty-five minutes. 

Clothes get folded and put on the desk chair if he’s wearing them again or in the laundry basket if they’re dirty. Shoes still usually end up wherever he takes them off, but since they get worn every day, I’m not too picky about those. Toys are put away and the remainder of the day’s books re-shelved before the bedtime book comes out. 

Adult Daniel’s casual attitude toward tidiness just wasn’t going to cut in this military household, so this was our compromise, though this Daniel isn’t yet aware of that. 

It works well for our schedule and saves lots of weekend headaches since the room is basically clean and usually only needs a quick vacuum. 

He’s gotten really good about doing it without being told, too, so I’m a little surprised, when I get to his room, to find toys scattered from one end to the other, his clothes dumped in a pile beside the laundry basket, and Daniel in bed. 

The really unusual part of this scenario is finding him sound asleep already, with the light still on. While this incarnation requires more sleep than the adult one, like his adult self, he rarely allows need to get in the way of what he wants. He always attempts to stretch out the bedtime routine even longer than usual the first night home after a long off-world trip. 

Hershey, lying in bed beside Daniel - under the covers - opens one eye and yawns, curling his tongue and rubbing a paw at his nose like he has an itch. 

One small, fisted hand is lying on top of the covers; the other arm, fingers of that hand clutched around the totem, is flung over his head, already in his usual sleep posture.

More than a little puzzled, I peel the miniature fingers, one by one, from the new toy, take his glasses off and store them in their case on the nightstand, and bend over to kiss him goodnight. 

“Daniel?” I sit down on the edge of the bed. 

Without opening his eyes, he holds out his fisted hand. “Put this with the totem, please,” he mumbles, dropping the rock into my outstretched palm. 

“Hey, Sport?” I brush a hand through his hair, concerned with the unusual warmth he’s radiating. “You okay?”

“Hmmmmmm,” He wrinkles his nose and squinches his eyes as he turns on his side and wriggles back to slide his butt up against the dog before tucking both hands under his cheek on a deep sigh. “I‘m glad you’re home finally. Missed you.”

“I missed you too. Want me to read still?” 

“Tried, Jack. Sleeping. G’nite.”

“Right. Sleeping.” But I don’t get up. 

This is too weird. He always tries to finagle a bedtime cuddle; at the very least, cop a back rub, especially after we’ve been separated for awhile, I don’t care how tired he is. 

Maybe cuddling on the couch was enough to top off his love tank tonight.

It sure leaves me at loose ends. That power nap rejuvenated me like Carter’s shower must have done for her. I’m wide awake, pleasantly buzzed – hey, maybe it was cooking sherry that gave Mrs. H’s chicken soup its appetizing flavor – and clueless as to what might have caused my kid to prefer sleeping to cuddling.

I lean over him to pat Hershey and whisper, “Come get me when you’re ready to go out again.”

The dog nuzzles my hand - at least he’s pleased with the human contact - then yawns again and closes one eye. The other watches me leave the room; I can feel it all the way to the door.

* * *

“I don’t know, sir,” I shrug, distracted by the stream of humanity hurrying past the open door of Hammond’s office. “We don’t mind going, but I’d rather limit SG-1’s involvement to day trips whenever possible. A week was too long.”

The treaty is a done deal, our diplomatic team is chomping at the bit to get on with the next bit of business, but we have to find them some first, which is where this conversation comes into play.

“I understand, but you’re my flagship team, Colonel, sometimes that’s just not feasible.”

“Yes, sir. We’ve always been best at first contact though, and that’s rarely a lengthy process. If we could try to stick with those missions . . .” and avoid the diplomatic ones that take forever. 

“Speaking of first contact. Colonel Edwards sent Lieutenant Menard to see me late last evening. He had some concerns he felt he needed to express over this treaty.”

“Edwards or Menard? And what kind of concerns?” 

“Menard.”

Very little twizzles my neck hairs anymore, I’m about as jaded as they come, but Menard presenting concerns to Hammond on his own? The kid stammers and blushes when spoken directly to in a briefing and scuttles away like a crab if you so much as look like you’re going to say ‘good morning’ to him in the hallway. They tell me he’s a brilliant engineer, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, or maybe that was build tall buildings in a single bound. Whatever - he’s the least likely candidate in the entire SGC to approach Hammond individually on anything, let alone broach concerns about a treaty SG-1 brokered that’s already in place.

“Colonel Edwards has informed me Lieutenant Menard is particularly adept at picking up on subtleties that fly right over the heads of the rest of his team. In this instance, Lieutenant Menard feels the Rezulins have not been upfront with us about their reasons for the treaty.”

“Ahhh, they don’t want an irrigation system? They’re not really interested in easy access to as much water as they could possibly use?” I slouch down in my chair, blocking out the continuous sound of hastening footsteps.

“No, he’s quite sure they’re pleased as punch about solving the water issues, he claims this is something less . . . tangible.”

“As in?” I inquire. 

Hammond frowns. “He thinks their . . .” he trails off with a sigh and a shake of his head. 

It’s enough to make me sit up straight and lean forward. It’s equally unusual for Hammond to beat around the bush like this. “General?”

“He claims their spirits have ulterior motives for this treaty.”

“Their spirits?” I admit it, I can’t help myself, it comes out as a sarcastic drawl. “The bear we saw, sir? Has ulterior motives for this treaty?” 

“Lieutenant Menard was dead serious, Colonel. I had the same reaction initially, but he held his ground and you know the difficulty that young man has meeting anyone’s gaze. He looked me square in the eye and repeated himself. His concern is valid, even if his anxiety is not.”

“So what evidence does he have to back up this claim, sir?”

Hammond sighs again and the fingers of his left hand start to worry the edge of the desk blotter. “He overheard some of the village women chattering as they were preparing food, he says playfully at first, but the tone turned dark the longer the conversation went on. It seems the spirits on Rezula require some kind of regular sacrifice to keep them appeased. The women, at least, believe the spirits have agreed to allow the Rezulins to enter into this treaty in order to . . . here’s where the Lieutenant wasn’t positive they meant it literally, but he believes the gist of the conversation concerned bringing new blood into the life stream.”

“We heard nothing of the sort, sir. And we spent a lot of time just hanging out with the villagers. General, we didn’t see any kind of behavior that would indicate we were being hoodwinked; no sly looks exchanged, no villagers scurrying out of meetings to have a tête-à-tête out behind the woodshed. There was no undercurrent of malevolence or cruelty about these people. They’re simple folk, but not stupid. Young, I guess you could say. Like us, sir,” I offer cheerfully, “only younger.”

“If you’re certain, Colonel.”

“What did Edwards have to say about Menard’s disclosure?” I know Hammond will have spoken with SG-11’s commander about this as well. 

“Pretty much the same as you, but he did add he’s learned to trust that young man’s instincts.”

“Did he suggest we pull out of the treaty, sir?”

“No, but he strongly recommended we proceed with caution.”

“You know, sir, it could have been something as earthy as the women discussing candidates for their own . . . shall we say - carnal pleasure? Versus something sinister like sacrificial appeasement to the spirits. Thinking in terms of new blood and all.”

“I’d like you to make a trip back, Colonel. It doesn’t need to be another week-long trip, but soon. Before Colonel Edwards takes his team back there to begin work. This is unusual enough, especially coming from someone on the engineering team, I want you to check it out thoroughly. I’d have expected something like this from Dr. Jackson, but Lieutenant Menard?”

“Sir, we just got home . . .” Out of the blue, a shiver of apprehension I can’t suppress runs down my spine and it has nothing to do with the fact I don’t want to go back to that planet. 

“Something wrong, Colonel?”

“No, sir. I’ll talk to Edwards about their time frame for return and make sure SG-1 gets back there before they’re ready to leave.” 

“Thank you.” 

As dismissals go, it’s pretty abrupt, and I get that he’s picked up on my reticence to return to Rezula. However, it has nothing to do with the planet. Well, okay, it’s never going to make my top ten list of places to revisit – but we just got home from a long trip, I need to be home for a few nights in a row with my kid. 

“Did I miss some memo about a base staff meeting this morning?” The hallway is never this busy unless we’re under attack and I haven’t heard any Gate klaxons. Rising, I glance over my shoulder at the General, who glances at the clock.

His irked frown blossoms into a smirk. “If you read your memo’s in the first place, Jack, you wouldn’t be out of the loop.” He rises with a chuckle. “Let’s go.”

When the General says let’s go, he doesn’t mean, if you want to. So I fall in next to him and we join the crowds jamming onto the elevators. By virtue of the fact he commands the Mountain and I’m his 2IC, we’re on the next elevator going up.

To level 21. The infirmary? 

It’s packed. As in standing room only packed. Every bed not occupied by a patient has a least half a dozen people sitting on it. Base personnel are ranged around the walls, leaning against the ends of beds in the aisles, sitting on counters, even jammed into the spaces between the beds. 

Fraiser’s no where to be seen and I have to wonder if she knows this is going on. We could be in a world of hurt if we have an emergency and have to move people out of here in a hurry. Seems to me the Mess would be a more appropriate place for a gathering of this size. And there are still folks trying to squeeze in. 

General Hammond leads the way to Daniel’s usual infirmary bed – where there’s a white tent card propped on the bed that reads Reserved for General Hammond and Guests. He motions me to take a seat and sits down beside me.

Is this where I’m supposed to act surprised? 

We must be right on time because Janet’s office door opens and Siler strides out purposefully. 

How to describe this . . . hmmmm. 

All right, I’ll just give it to you straight. 

Siler mounts a six-inch plywood platform set up in front of Fraiser’s office. He has on the SGC uniform of the day - with some slight modifications. Over his black t-shirt and green fatigues, he’s wearing a cut-away camo-jacket. Yes, with tails and lapels. Accompanying this get-up is a shiny, black top hat and under his arm is what looks like a police officer’s baton.

He waits, imperiously staring at the clock over the infirmary doors, apparently for silence, since the concrete room stills immediately. A sweeping glance over the gathered – for lack of a better word – audience, and he snaps his heels together with the precision of an SS officer. 

Brandishing the baton like a magician’s wand he announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you . . .” he pauses through the canned trumpet fan fare that blares from the loudspeakers, “Lord Daniel, and his faithful companion, Hershey!”

To the sound of tumultuous applause, Daniel, in a downsized version of Siler’s get-up, but with the addition of a sweeping, floor-length black cape, swirls onto the make-shift stage and throws back the cape, revealing Hershey, who is also wearing a cut-away camo-coat. 

No, I’m not kidding.

“It’s . . .” A long drum roll rumbles through the infirmary, a real drum roll, none of the canned stuff now. “Showtime!” Siler backs swiftly off the stage as Daniel and the dog bow deeply.

Daniel straightens, squares his shoulders. “Today we’re going to add something new to our show,” he announces. “I have been fortunate enough to come into possession of a magic rock with grrrrrrrrrreat powers,” he intones in an exact imitation of Teal’c. “Only very important people are allowed to see it, because, you see, it’s an alien artifact, not just a rock, of extreme value. My assistant, the lovely and talented Major Samantha Carter, will be helping us this morning since there are so many of you. Sam?”

Magic rock? Yesterday it was medicinal, today it’s magic?

Carter emerges from Janet’s office, thankfully sans the cut-away coat, in her own black t-shirt and BDUs, bearing a tray with the rock and what looks like a bowl of gold dust sitting on it. 

“In order to see and hear our show properly this morning you have to have the gold dust put on you. It will only take a few minutes, so feel free to talk, but you have to stay where you are so we can do this fast.”

Hammond chuckles quietly as the trio passes through the audience tattooing everyone with Lord Daniel’s mark, the human-fingers-paw-print. Leaning to me, he whispers, “Is this the rock Teal’c brought back?”

“Yes sir. I take it this has been going on for a while already?”

“They’ve been doing two shows a day since the day after you left for Rezula.”

“Ahhhhh.” That explains the burning hoola hoop. 

They’ve been working on this show for several weeks based on the antics they’ve been practicing in our driveway and backyard.

Carter grins and winks as the General and I are treated to special, from the rock, tattoos, as are all the infirmary patients, I notice, though the majority of the crowd gets powdered from the gold dust in the bowl. 

There’s not a single word of complaint. No shuffling, no clearing of throats, not even desultory conversation. Every eye is on Lord Daniel and everyone waits patiently for him to finish his rounds, which takes nine minutes by my watch. Tucking the rock away in one of the side pockets of his BDUs, Daniel leads the way back up the center aisle, graciously dismissing Carter and her bowl of gold dust as he and Hershey trot back up to the stage. 

“And now,” Daniel proclaims, “I give you . . . Hershey! The most intelligent dog in the universe! This dog,” he says confidingly, putting a hand to the side of his mouth like he’s excluding the dog from hearing, “can do algebra, geometry and even . . . trigonometry! He speaks twenty-three different languages and knows how to do tricks besides! Let’s give it up for . . . HERSHEY!!!!” He claps wildly, as does his audience, while Hershey calmly sits perusing the crowd. “Hershey, can you say hello to all these people?”

Hershey looks out over the audience, looks at Daniel, does a 180, and waves his plumy tail to enthusiastic applause.

“Good job, Hershey.”

The dog does another 180, sits himself down by Daniel’s feet, and grins at us. 

“Okay, you ready, Hersh?”

Hershey stands immediately and turns to face Daniel.

“Let’s start with a few simple tricks. Just a minute,” Daniel tells us, leaning down to whisper to the dog. “All right, we’re ready. Watch closely now as Hershey goes through his series of tricks.” He makes a broad hand motion and orders, “Hershey, beg.”

The dog drops in a heap, rolls over, and sticks his legs in the air.

Daniel sighs and swirls his wrist. “I said beg, Hershey, not play dead.”

The dog rolls over and over and over, then looks back over his shoulder expectantly, and rolls over again.

“No,” Daniel scolds, “roll-over is not beg. Come on, beg!” 

His hand shoves air down to the floor and Hershey immediately stretches out with his chin down on his paws.

I watched him teach the dog this routine out in the back yard. I happen to know the instructions to Hershey, when Daniel whispered in his ear, were to follow the hand signs, not the voice commands.

“No, no, no. Not lie down, beg. Come on, you’re a smart dog. You know beg. Beg, Hershey.”

Watching Daniel, the dog rolls over again, sticks his feet in the air, rolls again, and comes back to a lie-down position. 

Daniel turns to us with a put-upon sigh. Behind him the dog sits up, pulls his front paws into his chest, and does a perfect Beg. 

A chuckle sweeps the audience and Daniel looks around with a classically bewildered frown. “What?”

Hershey, of course, is sitting on his butt, looking innocent.

The audience roars when Daniel turns back and the dog resumes begging behind him. 

They’ve got this down pat. 

Someone must have helped him with his script, because Daniel is throwing out one-liners one after another and the dog’s a perfect foil for all his bad jokes. 

Hershey turns his back, hides his eyes with his paws, snorts and snuffles in all the right places, and generally makes Daniel look like he’s been doing this shtick for years.

They do a few tricks with the hoola hoop – sans fire, thankfully - Hershey performs all of his behaviors flawlessly, including begging, rolling over, playing dead, sitting, lie down, and heel. 

And then the dog has Daniel do tricks, barking out commands Daniel translates from French to English, Spanish to English, Latin to English and etc., while he does cartwheels across the stage, handsprings – the gymnastics with Teal’c are obviously paying dividends – and ultimately, Hershey’s final command in German, which Daniel refuses to translate.

“No, they don’t want to see me do that. They’ve seen me do that too many times already.”

Hershey barks once.

“Come on, give me something else,” Daniel cajoles.

Hershey just looks at him.

“I don’t want to do that. Think of something else.”

Hershey looks down at his paws for a moment, then back up at Daniel, and slowly moves his head from side to side. 

The hand signs the dog is reacting to now are very subtle.

“No, I’m not going to do it, I don’t care if I get treats or not.”

For a moment, Hershey doesn’t move. Then with magisterial dignity, he comes to all fours, marches over to Daniel, and slowly raises a paw to plant it in Daniel’s chest.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” Daniel intones as he keels over, “I don’t want to play dead!”

The audience roars hysterically!

We’ve discovered he’s quite a gifted mimic. He’s got half the SGC personnel nailed, including Carter, Teal’c and me. But his best impersonation is of Fraiser in her Napoleonic mode.

He had us laughing so hard the other night I thought Cassie was going to wet her pants. 

Fraiser just grabbed him and gave him a noogie, then did that snuffle-snort thing Carter does with him, kissing his neck and making him giggle until he begged for mercy.

On stage, he opens one eye and turns his head to look at the dog. “If you don’t let me up soon, I’m going to fall asleep, you know.”

Hershey appears to mull this over, barks once more, and Daniel scrambles to his feet, tossing back the cape as he throws his arms wide.

“And that’s all for today, folks. Next show at 4:45 this afternoon. Come one, come all!” he pronounces loudly, motioning for Hershey to bow with him.

They exit stage left to a riotous ovation and shouts of encore, encore!

I catch a glimpse of Fraiser and Carter as the door shuts solidly behind the pair and I glance over at the General.

That gentleman grins widely. “Quite a show. Even without a burning hoola hoop.”

We both rise to join the multitude flowing up the center aisle of the infirmary and like the Red Sea for Moses, the crowd parts as we head for the hallway.

“This is only the second time I’ve seen them,” Hammond says, grinning. “I believe there are at least five routines now, with a few overlapping elements.”

“Five,” I repeat, more than a little surprised. 

“That child has a mind like a steel trap. Nothing that goes in is ever jettisoned.”

“Another trait he has in common with his adult self,” I sigh. “Way too smart for his own good.”

Hammond’s grin watts up as he runs his security card through the reader and asks, “What floor, Colonel?”

I so hope Leno is booked from now until Daniel is resized.

* * *

Regrettably, between making a two-day trip back to Rezula – a useless waste of time as far as I’m concerned – and six new recon trips - all to uninhabited planets with nothing to recommend them – it takes two weeks to catch all the shows on the _Lord Daniel & his Faithful Companion_ show-schedule tacked to my bulletin board with an unbent paper clip.

With each new gig, I’m more and more astounded. I know I’m probably prejudiced, but they’re producing a show with a level of sophistication people would pay money to see. This whole venture should be far beyond this Daniel’s ability. Heck, I doubt adult Daniel could pull off this kind of show. Though I suppose that has more do with his serious lack of playfulness than any lack of ability. 

Three weeks into it - they started the week we were gone - their audience has dwindled significantly, but Daniel’s philosophical. He says they never expected to play to a packed house constantly; they’re happy to do their show for the infirmary patients, besides – it’s a captive audience. His aside, not mine. The kid is turning into a real comedian.

The piece of this I don’t like one little bit is the new side of Daniel that seems to be blooming with their rise to fame, especially the cagey, evasive mannerisms he’s started to exhibit. 

He’s all exuberance and charm when he knows he’s in the spotlight, but come up on him unawares and he’s shuffling books and papers around on his desk as though he’s hiding something, or furtively stuffing Teal’c’s rock back in his pocket.

That alone would be enough to ding my alarm bells. But Teal’c tells me he’s having trouble keeping Daniel focused on school work since we got back from Rezula, and homework assignments for the days we’re off-world are being ignored. 

Daniel loves school. For the last eleven months we’ve been the ones trying to broaden his interests, but more along the lines of outdoor activities than something else that has him hunched over a computer keyboard for hours on end.

Carter recently ran across a new outdoor sport she cajoled us into trying and got us all hooked. It’s an adult, high tech version of treasure-hunting called geocaching. Basically, utilizing GPS coordinates posted on the Internet, we go looking for what’s been hidden. 

Anyway, since he started this dog and pony show, Daniel hasn’t wanted to do anything but work on it. A week ago he spent the trip home from the Mountain trying to scope out a wireless network he could filch off of so he could work in the truck. This past weekend we had a good shot at a first-to-find geocaching and he refused to leave the house.

Yeah, I realize this obsession is very adult-Daniel-like. Let adult Daniel get a faint whiff of a puzzle and he’s all over it until he’s solved the thing. Challenge a point and he won’t rest until he’s proved it ten times over. Give him an artifact to translate and he doesn’t sleep until it’s done, even if it takes a week. So, yeah, I’m not fooling myself into thinking this is brand new behavior. But it is new for this incarnation of Daniel and in combination with the whole secretive thing he seems to have going on with that rock, my alarm bells are definitely ringing - stridently.

Bottom line, if we can’t come to some kind of compromise, the shows are going to have to stop. This obsession is not healthy, and furthermore, they seem to be excessively draining.

I’ve found the kid and the dog lying on the sofa in Daniel’s office several times after a performance. Fraiser says Daniel is expending huge amounts of energy, so it’s natural to need to recharge, especially for a kid this size.

I’ve lived with him for the last eleven months; I’m not convinced she’s right about this. 

So I have a definite purpose in mind when I track him down in his “office”. 

Normally during school hours when we’re on base, he’s with Teal’c in the converted classroom. If Teal’c is otherwise occupied, and neither Carter nor I can cover, Daniel comes back here to his old office. All the security shifts know to keep an eye on him wherever he goes, so I can call up at any given time and they can tell me where he is. 

It’s how I found him now. 

Daniel’s office has a particular smell. It’s a combination of old books and older artifacts, overlaid by the scent of candle wax and alien incense. 

It took me awhile to figure out the incense stuff worked like No Doz. 

Adult Daniel always said he liked the smell and since he could never resist digging through the garbage to bring back useless crap from every planet we went to, his office quite often smelled rancid for days after a particularly successful mission. 

Or at least what he considered successful. 

The incense was powerful enough to overcome even those smells and it never occurred to me he wasn’t being completely truthful about the stuff. So I had no issue when he bartered or traded for it off-world.

Until Teal’c clued me in after a particularly bad mission where a sleep-deprived Daniel got his ass kicked and very nearly got the rest of us killed saving that sorry ass. 

Carter, Teal’c, and I ended up in the infirmary for a couple of days. 

Daniel was in for two weeks, and then on light duty for another month. 

I personally pitched the damn incense into the incinerator. Coincidentally, nobody on base slept for three days straight. 

The smell of it still permeates his office, though I believe the effect has worn off. 

However, that’s not the memory that swats me across the back of the head as I stroll in to check on my pint-sized archeologist.

No, the memory that grabs me now is of standing in this door the first time I found him here after he descended. I was standing watching him work, marveling at the consistent inconsistencies of the universe, when – without lifting or turning his head – he growled, “What do you want?” 

It was the moment I realized that connection was still there.

“Hey, Sport.” I knock on the open door. 

He looks over at me – he’s perched precariously on a stool that allows him to use the counter and his laptop – then glances around for Hershey, who’s snoozing on the sofa. “How long have you been standing there?”

Here we go with the shuffling kerfluffle thing. And the back button on the computer definitely gets a glide and slide. 

“Why? Got something to hide?” I stroll up behind him to look over his shoulder. Something else I’m not too keen on are the lavender smudges under those impossibly blue eyes. Especially since they seem to be edging toward a bruised purple that makes me think he’s not getting enough sleep. 

“I’m doing school work, you’re not supposed to be interrupting, Teal’c said.”

“He did, did he?” 

Daniel leans back against me and I wrap my arms around him as we both study his computer screen. It’s not unusual for him to want to cuddle, but this isn’t cuddling. This is deep-sigh-stretch-abused-muscles-I’m-tired kind of leaning back. In this case, I’m just a convenient prop. 

“Hmmm.” I hit the forward button. “Exactly what subject does lotsofjokes.com help you with?”

“Ummm,” Daniel says, flirting a shoulder, “English?”

Because he’s small, and I can, I twirl him around on the stool to face me. “You’ve been allowed to stay in here by yourself because we trust you. Is this really school work?”

He mulls it over for several seconds before answering solemnly, “No, but it is work.”

“Is your school work done?”

Indecision wars with temptation on the small, up-turned face. 

Was this face always this readable, or is it just the downsizing? 

“No,” he says finally, adding, with an uncharacteristic pout, “I don’t like math.” He squinches up his nose like it has a bad smell too. “Why do I have to learn all this stuff if I’m going to remember it soon anyway?”

“Are you?”

“What?” Now the arms cross over his chest, but not in that old self-hug. That’s a thing of the past; I haven’t seen that in a couple of months. 

No, this is your standard I-hate-this-I-don’t-want-to-do-it-and-you-can’t-make-me pose.

“Going to remember it soon?”

“I don’t know,” he snaps, adding the cross-eyed look to the list. 

He’s certainly got this kid thing down pat.

“What happens if you don’t?”

“Don’t what? And don’t try to confuse me.”

I sigh. “What happens if you don’t remember, Daniel?”

“Not going to happen,” he snarks, in a perfect imitation of me. 

I take a step back and mirror his pose, arms crossed over my chest, staring at him down my nose. He’s staring up at me over the top of his glasses. 

“What makes you think that?” 

“I don’t think, I know.” 

“You know you’re going to be big again? When? How?”

“I don’t know that,” he says, in that tone of voice that scrapes nerves like fingernails on a blackboard.

“Then how do you know you’re going to be big again?” I repeat, allowing a bit more Colonel into my voice so he knows I’m not playing games anymore.

He stares at me a moment longer before uncrossing his arms to push his glasses up his nose. “I don’t know how I know,” he sighs, reaching his arms up to be held. “I just do.”

“Uh huh, I’ll pick you up, but not until we’re done with this conversation.”

“I’m done,” he announces, wiggling his still-held-up fingers insistently.

“I’m not, Dr. Jackson. A few specifics are in order here, and you’re the one who started this, so don’t bother trying to weasel out of it.”

His arms fall to his lap and with a very put-upon sigh he swivels back around on the stool and opens the math book. “All right, I’ll do the math.”

In two steps I reach over his shoulder and snap the book closed. While he is one of two people in the universe I occasionally let manipulate me, that doesn’t mean I like it.

“This has gone beyond the math now. What makes you think you’re going to be resized, Daniel?”

The blond head goes down and he draws a deep breath – such an adult Daniel response I’m momentarily left breathless – before he raises his head just enough to look at me, 

“I’m itchy. My skin feels too small to hold me.”

Now I’m sucking air. “How come you haven’t told me this before?”

More internal debate, plainly visible on the small, elfin face, and the ring finger creeps up for a chew. 

All right, let’s try this from a different angle. “What aren’t you telling me?”

The chewing notches up as his head swivels around until he finds Hershey again, still lying on the sofa. The dog has his head between his paws, eyes bouncing between us like he’s watching a tennis match. 

Daniel drops his chin to his chest and mumbles something unintelligible. This is something new he’s picked up in this incarnation. Adult Daniel had no problem arguing; this one shies away from any kind of confrontation.

“Please look at me.”

Compliance is relatively quick.

“What’s going on you haven’t told me about.”

I’m treated to the eye roll, accompanied by the shoulder flirt and a tch. 

“I just . . . talked to the dog lady again.”

“Dog lady? Which dog lady?”

“What do you mean which dog lady?”

“Alissana? Or Oma Desala?”

“Who?”

“Ms. Ali? The lady we got Hershey from?” One word about prepositions and I’ll shoot someone. “Or the lady who was also a dog on that damn island?”

“Oh.” A moment’s frown, the arms cross over his chest again, and he looks back at the dog. “You never told me that,” he says accusingly – to the dog.

“Told you what?” I prod, when he continues staring at the dog.

“Huh? Oh, nothing.” Daniel shakes his head as if coming out of a trance. “The first one – the one from the island.”

Have I mentioned how much I hate twenty questions?

“That would be Oma Desala. What did Hershey just tell you? That Oma Desala was Alissana too?”

“How’d you know that?”

I think we’ll leave that one alone for the moment. “Where did you see her? And when? Since Hershey came to live with us?”

The chewing notches up and the answer is unintelligible.

“Take your finger out of your mouth and answer the question.”

“Here.” The ring finger comes out of his mouth and gets shoved into the circle of his closed right hand, where he worries it like a plunger.

“Here? As in inside the Mountain?”

“Yes.”

“Where in the Mountain?”

“Here,” he says, tucking his chin back down inside the neck of his t-shirt.

“Right here? In this office?”

“Uh huh.” 

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Okay, I suppose that was a little open-ended. “Why was she here in your office?”  
More to the point, what the hell is she doing hanging around in the Mountain?

“Uhmmm . . . well . . . I sort of . . . asked her.”

Oh, for cryin’ out loud! “Why?” I’m trying my best to keep a level tone, but I don’t think I’m doing a very good job.

“Hershey told me she was hanging around. She said the cameras couldn’t see her because she’s energy and therefore un-defectable with that kind of technology.”

“Undetectable.”

He gives me the look. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Can we say – role reversal? 

I sigh and swipe a hand through what’s left of my grey - now shading to white as he leaches out the last of the color - hair. At least I still have some – hair that is. 

“When did this happen?” I’m not touching the fact that the dog told him she was here, or that she appeared at his invitation. What I really want to know is why is she hanging around? 

That requires patience, a commodity I’m in short supply of at the moment.

“When?” I repeat impatiently. 

He heaves another sigh. “Just before you went to P8X-XYZ.”

“Which time?” We’ve been twice in the last three weeks.

“The long time.”

“So you saw Oma just before we went to Rezula the first time.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you didn’t think it was important to tell me because . . .”

“I forgot,” he responds innocently, blinking those incredibly long lashes at me.

“Want to try again, Sport? And I highly recommend this time you give serious consideration to telling me the truth.”

“I did. I just forgot.” Now he frowns as though he can’t believe I would think he’d lie to me.

“Daniel, I’m holding onto my temper by the skin of my teeth. Know what that means?”

“Not much space between your temper and me?”

“Good guess. The space is shrinking rapidly.”

“Okay!Ithoughtyoudbemad!” he says in a rush.

“No? You’re kidding? You thought I’d be mad? Whatever made you imagine such a thing?” Yeah, I know I’m giving free lessons in Sarcasm 101; nothing new for either incarnation of Daniel. “Hershey, is she still here?”

The dog lazily opens one eye and thumps his tail – like any normal dog would do when he hears his name.

“Daniel, ask the dog if she’s still here.”

“Hershey, is she still here?” he mimics.

I grit my teeth. 

“Hershey says no, she’s got other fish to fry.”

Oh, you are so busted, dog!

“Hershey is not the dog lady, no matter what you think, Jack.”

_Right. And I spell my name with one L._

“There’s no L in Jack,” Daniel smirks.

Maybe not - but there’s lots of Dan-yel in Jack. Twined around Jack’s brain stem like a little parasite. Especially this incarnation, though the other managed to worm his way into my skull as well. Now he’s in my mind too? It’s one thing to toy with a little sub-vocal communication every now and then, quite another to have someone else roaming around in your head. 

_Get out of here, right now; this is not a safe place for you to be._

_Why?_

“Stop it. You’re not going to distract me with mind games either.” Did I say shit already? Not out loud? Good. I think it again; repetitively. And sigh gustily.

“I’m sorry,” he offers. “I should have told you. I knew you’d be worried she’d try to take me again.”

“She didn’t take you, as we’ve already discussed, my little walking-encyclopedia-with-a-Venus-Fly-Trap-brain. You went with her willingly. The difference is - just in case I’m being too subtle for you – one is an invitation to go play, the other is considered kidnapping. Oma Desala invited you to play and you went.”

“See, I knew you’d be mad.”

“Ya think?” I swing around to pace the length of his office behind the counter. 

“I wouldn’t have gone with her, Jack.”

“How do you know she’ll keep giving you a choice?”

“You just said . . .” Daniel sighs. “She didn’t take me the first time. Besides, there are rules.”

“Rules?” It comes out more as a snort than a question. Not that I intended it to be a question. “It’s been my experience she finds a way around those rules whenever it’s to her benefit.”

Hershey sits up on the sofa, takes a long, hard look at me, hops down, and comes over to pace beside me. 

“Don’t you start, too,” Daniel mutters.

Which gives me an idea. Yeah, it’s totally bizarre. What can I say? But it feels . . . right. I stop abruptly, grab the dog by the collar, and squat down so we’re eye level with each other. “I expect you to guard him with your life.”

I let go of him and the dog slowly turns around, plants his butt, and solemnly lifts a paw to shake. I swear on everything I hold sacred he knows exactly what I’ve asked of him. It’s no less than he expects of me and we seal the bargain with a firm shake. So what if it’s a paw in my hand, the pledge is no less binding.

“So what else did she tell you?” I make an effort to quell the quivering nerve endings making my own skin itch and shuffle back to a standing position. 

Yeah, I’m still pissed, but that ridiculous little ritual relived some of my stress. If that dog is only a dog, I’ll eat one of Daniel’s boonies.

“She didn’t tell me anything. Mostly she talked about things like rice that should have been cooked already and bowls that don’t need washing. I told her if she wasn’t going to make things any better, to just go away. We didn’t want her here.”

“Why do you think she’s hanging around?”

Daniel shrugs off-handedly. “Well, I think she does want me to go with her again, but she’s never asked. She talked a lot about paths and stuff and how I should always follow my own path.”

I’d like to clear a path for her, straight back to glowy land, where I’d like her to stay and leave us the hell alone.

Living in our neighborhood wasn’t close enough? She told me she wasn’t responsible for this version of Daniel, that he’d done this to himself. But it sure seems like she has some stake in this business, or why would she be hanging around? 

I need adult Daniel working on this puzzle. But then if he was adult Daniel, we wouldn’t have this puzzle in the first place – so the question wraps around itself again and again until it resembles a python coiled around my brain, squeezing the life out of it.

Alex, I’ll take Timelines for Daniel Jackson for a thousand, please. 

Daniel lifts his arms again, but with a tentativeness that twangs my last nerve like an out-of-tune guitar string.

On another sigh, I pick him up and snug him close. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, putting his head down on my shoulder.

“You feeling okay, Sport?” I rest my cheek lightly against his hot forehead.

Instead of answering, he’s tries distraction. “Why?”

“You’re kind of warm.” Too warm. He’s usually in a jacket or sweatshirt inside the Mountain. This afternoon all he’s wearing is his t-shirt and BDUs and he feels like a hot-water bottle.

“Oh, it’s the rock. Whenever I play with it, I get warm all over.”

“Really? Can I see the rock?”

After a slight hesitation, he sits up, digs it out of his side flap-pocket and hands it to me. 

“How do you use it, Sport?” I set him on the counter and take the rock, walking it up and down the backs of my knuckles until they’re coated with the gold powder.

His eyes follow the manipulated rock and he asks curiously, “How do you do that?” 

“Practice is all. There’s no trick to it. How do you use the rock?”

He shrugs and reaches for it, mewling a slight protest when I don’t let him take it. 

“I need it, Jack. We can’t do our show without it.”

I glance at the clock over the door. “And you’re on in less than fifteen minutes, huh?”

“Yes! Give me the rock. I have a lot to do in the next fifteen minutes,” he huffs at me. “You’ve taken up way too much of my time already; we’re going to be late.”

“I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date.” 

“Oh, dear, whatever shall I do?” Daniel slaps both hands to the sides of his face and widens his eyes. “Give me the rock and go away,” he laughs, punching me in the arm and reaching for it again.

I hand it back, but not before I’ve examined it from every angle, tasted the powder myself, and rubbed my palm against the back of my knuckles. The gold stuff is slippery and a little bit oily between my fingers, but it doesn’t make me warm. It looks like a rock, feels like a rock, and smells like a rock. So, based on the theory – if it quacks like a duck – this should be a rock, right?

Daniel slid off the counter onto the stool while I was examining the rock and is already beavering away at his laptop, eyes glued to the screen, tiny fingers flying over the keys as he mumbles to himself very much like his adult incarnation.

“Sergeant?” On the way past, I remember to snag the office phone. “I want an SF posted in Daniel’s office twenty-four/seven until further notice. . . . Yes, even when he’s in here . . . Yes, Sergeant Harriman, even when he’s not in here. Did the words twenty-four/seven sound at all familiar? . . . Thank you. Remind me to tell you what an invaluable asset you are to the SGC, Sergeant Harriman . . . You’re welcome.” I drop the receiver back in its cradle and whistle my way to the door. Strategically, I actually step into the hall and stick my head back around the doorframe. “By the way? I need you to do me a favor.”

“What?” He doesn’t even look up from whatever it is he’s busily typing.

“When this show is over, I want you to take that rock down to Carter and have her analyze it.”

“For what?” Now he does look up, apprehensively.

“Just a precautionary measure. I want to be sure there’s nothing harmful to humans in it.”

“Teal’c said its fine.”

“Yep, I know. So humor an old man, just take the rock to Carter and have her make sure there’s nothing unusual about it, please?”

He purses his lips with a frown. “If I have time,” he informs me. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“If you don’t, I will. We clear on this?” I get a mumbled response that sounds suspiciously like ‘we’ll see’, so I prompt again. “Dr. Jackson? 

“All right, I’ll take it to Sam, but there’s nothing wrong with the rock. It’s not hurting me, Jack.”

“I’m glad you don’t think so, please have Carter confirm it.”

His sniff of disdain is meant to put me in my place; I ignore it. 

“See ya later, Sport.”

I didn’t quite meet my objective for this visit; the rock still isn’t in my possession, though I suppose another day or two probably won’t kill him. In the meantime, this new intel bothers me almost as much as the rock. What the heck does Oma Desala want with our kid? And how the hell am I supposed to find out?

* * *

I don’t often work Saturday nights anymore unless I’m off-world; one of the perks of being a Colonel and 2IC of the Mountain. One of the drawbacks of being guardian of this incarnation of Daniel is the things I get suckered into because I have a hard time saying no to him. Colonel Penhall, from SG-2, was supposed to be the C.O. on duty tonight.

Yeah, I know, surprise! General Hammond doesn’t live here, it just appears that he does. 

So, anyway, Penhall heard Daniel was doing a show for the weekend contingent this evening and asked if I’d mind subbing for him. They’re having a birthday party tonight and his wife’s been ragging on him to be home to help chaperone. I hear Penhall’s ordered his entire unit to attend, since it’s for his 18-year-old daughter. Hope he remembers to put one of them on punch bowl duty.

On our way in tonight, Daniel explained to me, very carefully, why I didn’t need to attend this evening’s show. It was an inventive list, touching on my responsibility to watch the Gate, to be available if some SG team came in hot, and answering the red phone should it happen to ring. Not to mention, they’re just doing the same old show they’ve done a million times already. I’d be bored to tears. 

He shut up when I told him I got the picture; that I understood I was uninvited. Which makes me wonder why? What’s he got up his sleeve he thinks he can get away with if I’m not there? And this has clearly been planned for this weekend show – at a guess, because he thinks these people don’t know him in this incarnation. One of those - I don’t know you, how could you possibly know me? – scenarios. He hasn’t yet reasoned out that the entire base is aware of his downsizing, no matter what shift they work. 

For now, I have no plans to enlighten him. Warner will call me if there’s a problem.

So I’m in my office whittling away at the mountain of paperwork in my inbox. I prefer to work from my own office, even when I have command of the Mountain, I don’t do bored well and sitting watching the red phone doesn’t cut it for me. So my inbox is perilously close to being empty when the alarms startle me from my oh-so-absorbed concentration.

I’m out of my office and on my way to the elevator for Level 28 when the subtle difference in the alarm tones makes the connection in my brain.

FIRE!

Those are fire alarms, not the Gate klaxons. I have an instant vision of burning hoola hoops and change direction mid-stride.

My card is already sliding through my door reader when the overhead intercom blares. 

“Colonel O’Neill, to the infirmary, stat! Colonel O’Neill, to the infirmary. All clear on the fire alarm.”

Snatching up the phone I dial security. “What level?”

“21, in the infirmary, sir, but the fire has already been contained. No damage, sir, no one hurt.”

“What happened?”

There’s a discreet cough on the other end of the line. They’re still watching whatever the hell is going on down there while I’ve got diddly squat.

“Airman?”

“Uh, well, sir, we think Daniel may have accidentally caught some papers on fire.”

Right. Did I mention burning hoola hoops? I sink down in my desk chair. I’m too old for this, way too old. If I don’t take a moment to calm down now, I’ll skin him alive when I get my hands on him. “Call Dr. Warner, tell him I’m on my way.”

“Yes, sir. There really was no harm done, sir.”

I don’t bother with a reply, just drop the phone back in its cradle and sink my head into my hands. Way. Too. Old.

By the time I reach the infirmary, my heartbeat has returned to something resembling a normal rhythm, though if Warner took my blood pressure right now, he’d throw my ass in an infirmary bed.

Teal’c is standing guard at the C.M.O.’s office door, where I presume Lord Daniel and his Faithful Companion are being held.

Dr. Warner comes out, closing the door behind him when he sees me, and motions me aside, out of range of hearing of any of the patients.

“I’m not exactly sure what happened, Colonel, by the time I came on the scene, Lieutenant Morrison had put out the fire. Dr. Jackson . . .” Warner looks away and clears his throat, “uh, Dr. Jackson appears to have suffered no ill affects from the small contretemps, sir.”

His discretion is admirable, but not what I want. 

“What did the little shit do?”

“Uhm, perhaps you should speak to Dr. Jackson about what went on, sir. He might be clearer about what and how the . . . uh . . . incident happened.”

“Trust me, I’ll get the story from him, too, but I want an adult’s version of it first.”

“Sir, if I may?” Lieutenant Morrison, one of Fraiser’s nurses, edges into our zone, looking mighty uncomfortable, but on a mission. “Dr. Warner wasn’t even in the room, sir.”

“Lieutenant,” I sigh. “The doc says you put out the fire.”

“Yes, sir. It really was nothing. A single sheet of paper caught on fire.”

“More to the point, Lieutenant, what was he doing that caught a piece of paper on fire?”

“It happened so quickly, I’m not even sure myself, but I think Hershey must have distracted Daniel for a second and the hoola hoop drooped and bounced against the nearest tray. It looked like a med order sheet. It floated to the floor, sir, where I was able to put it out with just my shoe.”

“No harm, no foul,” Warner murmurs. “It was an accident, nothing more.”

“I’m sorry, am I the only one who thinks this whole scenario is just WRONG? Why would you let a kid in here with a burning hoola hoop in the first place?”

“No one expected it, sir. But Daniel appeared to have everything well in-hand. Before he lit the hoola hoop he played with the fire between his hands, then lit the hoola hoop and had Hershey jump through it.”

I want to stick a finger in my ear and jiggle it to make absolutely certain there’s no more wax build-up than usual and I’m hearing what I thought I heard. Instead, I ask as calmly as the guardian of a seven-year-old genius with ascended genes can, “He was playing with fire between his hands? Fire? Real, hot, burning, fire?”

“Real enough to burn paper, though I was certain, at first at least, that it was some kind of illusion, sir.”

“Illusion. Yeah. Right.” 

I’ve got six hours before I can turn over command. This is probably a good thing. If I took him home right now . . .

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Doc, should I take some aspirin to thin my blood before I go in there, so I don’t stroke out when I start screaming at him?”

To Warner’s credit, he suppresses the twitching smile. “There’ve been amazing strides in stroke therapy in the last few years, but immediate treatment seems to be the key factor. I’ll be . . . right here, sir. If you need me.” 

Why is it I appear to be the only one not amused by this little stunt? 

“What is your plan of action, O’Neill?” Teal’c inquires, planting himself squarely in front of the door.

“Before or after I murder him? Unless you want to deal with this yourself, T, I recommend you stand down.”

“Would it not be efficacious to allow your temper to cool before confronting Daniel Jackson?”

“No. And I have no intention of arm wrestling you to get in the door. Stand down.”

Teal’c eyes me for a moment longer, then steps aside and opens the door.

Daniel looks up from where he’s kneeling on the chair behind Fraiser’s desk. It appears he has a file folder open on the desktop and when I lean in to look at it, I realize he has out his own medical file and is leafing through it.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snatch up the folder, shuffling papers back into the overstuffed shell.

“It’s my file,” he says patiently, which has the effect of pouring gasoline on smoldering embers. 

The hold I have on my temper goes up in flames. 

“It is not your file, it belongs to your adult self and you have no business reading it. What the hell has gotten into you lately? Have you lost your mind? Have you really reverted to a clueless seven-year-old? Because if that’s the case, I’m going to have to lock you up until you’re capable of using your head again! Setting something on fire INSIDE a building? Are you out of your frigging mind?”

“It wasn’t really on fire,” Daniel inserts calmly. “It just looks like fire.”

Onetwothreefourfive . . . nintynineonehundred.

See? There. I can do calm. 

“Oh. Then the paper that’s now ash in a trashcan somewhere is just an illusion, too, right?”

He thinks about that one for a moment, then stands up on the chair and hops down to snatch up the hoola hoop leaning against a set of file drawers. He carefully closes the drawer - the J drawer for Jackson, he probably owns the entire drawer between both incarnations – and shoves the hoola hoop out in front of him. Hershey hops down from his chair in front of the desk, ready for action too.

“It’s easy once you get the hang of it,” he says, digging Teal’c’s rock out of his pocket and closing his eyes. 

Instantly a ring of fire circles the hoop, dancing across his knuckles as if it’s a breeze rather than a lethal essence. Hershey contorts his body to hop through without banging into the desk or the file cabinets. For a moment it appears as though the dog has caught fire, every little individual hair appears to glow at the tip, and then the illusion is gone and he’s just a dog grinning at me, his shaggy head framed like a picture, by the flaming circle. 

“You can touch it, I won’t let it hurt you,” Daniel offers. 

“Read my lips. Put.It.Out.Now.”

“Look, it’s not real.” He shoves the burning hoop against Hershey’s neck, who appears unfazed, and more importantly, does not immediately catch on fire. 

“DANIEL!”

When he taps it against a stack of highly flammable papers I instinctively grab for it. The plastic is warm, but not melted, the flames tickle a little, but there’s no heat. Until I give it a tug. The instant it leaves Daniel’s hand, the flames sear across the backs of my knuckles, melting the plastic in my grip. An instant later the flames are gone.

Daniel looks up at me, then down at my clenched fist. 

I open the door and hand out the artifact – along with some flesh. “Get rid of this damn thing and take Daniel to our on-base quarters. I’ll be along shortly.”

“You shouldn’t have done that, but I can fix it. Give me your hand.” Daniel holds his own out imperiously as I turn back.

“You will go with Teal’c without another word, and if you’re lucky, I’ll sleep on this before I decide what to do with you. But you can be certain there will be consequences, young man.”

“I didn’t –”

“Now.”

Wisely, Teal’c steps inside and scoops up Daniel before he can start again. The Jaffa, the kid, and the dog beat a hasty retreat.

“Doc? I think I might be in need of some first aid.”

“Colonel?” Warner has to pry open the fingers, they don’t want to open on their own. “Nurse, get a burn kit! Colonel, sit down.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Nor do I protest when he grabs an elbow and pulls me toward an infirmary bed. 

The doc drags a rolling tray over with his foot and props my elbow on top. “Keep it elevated,” he orders, pulling on a pair of new sterile gloves before starting to open the various packages the nurse piles on the tray next to me. “What happened?” he demands, gingerly taking my hand again.

“For some stupid reason, I took the burning hoola hoop out of Daniel’s hands. Apparently as long as he’s in control of it, it’s only an illusion.”

Warner looks over at me with a raised eyebrow. “Kheb?”

I doubt my smile is a pleasant thing to observe. “Oh, I don’t think he had to reach that far back, Doc.”

“You’re going to have trouble with this, Colonel. It’s at least a second degree burn”

What should have been blisters is pretty much raw flesh, since the top layer of the blisters stuck to the hoola hoop when I passed it to Teal’c. 

“This is not going to feel good, do you want me to give you something?”

“Just do it, Doc, unless you want to cover for me for the next six hours.”

“No, thanks. Nurse, get me a topical anesthetic. I’m not going to try to debrid this without some kind of numbing. 

By the time he’s done, I’m very thankful he insisted, because it frickin’ hurts with anesthetic. 

He smears some gooey stuff across the palm of my hand and loosely wraps it with gauze. “Keep it dry and above your heart and you’ll suffer less. Will you leave it in a sling if I set you up with one?”

“No.”

“Figured that was a useless waste of breath. Make sure one of us sees it every couple of days. I’ll leave a note for Dr. Fraiser, so don’t make us come looking for you, Colonel.” A very fine ash drifts up from the trashcan he sweeps the empty packaging into. “Get him some aspirin and make sure he takes it before he leaves, Lieutenant.” Warner dismisses me with a flick of his wrist. “Good luck with your charge; I wouldn’t trade places with you for the all the money in the world.”

Funny thing, as furious as I am, I wouldn’t trade places with anyone for all the money in the world.

“I’ve got aspirin in my desk drawer-“

“Dr. Warner’s going to ask me if I made you take these.” Morrison smiles sweetly as she holds out the pills and a cup of water. “And I’m certain you would never ask me to lie to a superior officer. Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Everybody else does, why not, Lieutenant.” I take the pills she hands me, then the water, because there’s no way I’m going to be using my right hand for awhile.

“What Daniel and Hershey are doing has been . . .” she frowns slightly, “I don’t know how to explain it, sir. But their presence, the laughter they bring, the brightness they inject into the seriousness down here, is invaluable, not just for the patients, sir, but for the staff too. We see some strange and not so wonderful things; they help us remember there is still normality in our world. Since they’ve started their own little USO show, the atmosphere has been different - less somber, more optimistic. The patients really respond to it, they look forward to it every day. That said, I guess I’m asking that you not be too hard on Daniel, sir. He’s always been special, even as an adult. And he’s so engaging in this incarnation, you know he would never hurt anyone or anything on purpose, sir. Please don’t make them stop doing the shows.”

“You have kids, Morrison?”

“Yes, sir. Two.” She meets my gaze levelly, her smile rueful. “Fortunately they have no paranormal abilities. But think about it, wouldn’t you rather he experiment with his gifts here, sir, where there’s immediate support if something does go wrong?”

She has a point. If he’s going to experiment – and stopping him would be like trying to sandbag an already flooded river – I’d rather he do it in a controlled environment.

On a sigh I push up off the bed. “Your score, Lieutenant. Thanks for the reframing.”

Hells bells. No one mentioned I’d need the Wisdom of Solomon to deal with this kid.

Teal’c is still in the room when I arrive at our on-base quarters. The trio is at the table playing cards. Daniel appears to be playing Hershey’s hand according to the dog’s instructions. From the looks of it, the dog is in the lead. 

I took the long way, detouring by the security office to pick up the tape of the incident. 

“Do you have a three, Danieljackson?”

“Go fish,” Daniel yawns. “Hershey wants to know if you have a three, Teal’c?”

Hershey pats his paw on top of the newly acquired pair and turns to Daniel. How does the dog knows what cards he has if they’re face down on the table? Never mind, probably shouldn’t go there either. Have you noticed there seems to be an infinite number of places I’d rather not go lately?

“No, I don’t have any sevens. Go fish.” Daniel slaps a card from the deck down in front of the dog. “Hershey, do you have any five’s?” He yawns again and knuckles his eyes. “I’m going to bed after this hand, Teal’c.”

I tune them out as I shove the DVD in the player and fast forward to the approximate time I left Daniel in the infirmary. A few more clicks of the remote and I find what I want. There’s no sound, but the first shots of Daniel are on his makeshift stage, with the dog sitting next to him. He holds out Teal’c’s rock on his palm, then shows it around holding it between his fingers, and wipes a bit of the gold off on his jeans before placing the rock back in the middle of his palm. I’ll have to go back and time it, but I doubt it’s more than five seconds before the rock bursts into flame in his hand - gold flames that he shapes into a ball. He’s talking again, and he reaches blindly for the hoola hoop Hershey has in his mouth. This tape doesn’t show the dog collecting the hoola hoop. As Daniel takes the plastic hoop, he pours fire out of a funnel he makes with his fingers. It races around the circle until the circumference is lit and he holds it aloft triumphantly. Hershey barks, or appears to at least add his congratulatory two cents to the successful phenomenon. 

Daniel, by word commands alone - I see no hand signs at all - has the dog jump through the burning hoop, instructs Hershey to sit inside the ring of fire, and gets him to do a little shimmy as though the dog, sitting on his butt, is actually twirling the hoop. Funny thing, the burning hoop is rotating, spinning fire, as though Hershey really is activating the spin. How come it didn’t catch anything on fire, like the dog, when it was out of Daniel’s hands? 

Just standing here watching, I want to snatch up both of them and instill some honest-to-goodness fear in them. 

Perhaps one of the most poignant differences between this Daniel and the adult incarnation is this Daniel’s total lack of fear. Don’t get me wrong, adult Daniel didn’t have a cowardly bone in his body, he was as fearless as they come, but not from a lack of fear, rather, from overcoming it. This incarnation moves through space and time as though he owns it. In adult Daniel’s timeline, that fearlessness was snatched away, if not at the death of his parents, then I’d guess very soon thereafter. 

Watching him on tape, totally uninhibited, totally unafraid is like watching art in motion. 

He does a series of hops around the small stage using the burning hoola hoop like a jump rope. Then with a gesture to the dog, he stops, plants himself, and he and the dog jump the hoop in unison as Daniel rotates it over their heads. 

It happens as they’re taking their final bow. The hoop is still on fire and it appears, for a moment, Daniel’s attention is distracted, though I don’t know by what. The hoola hoop droops just enough to touch a single piece of paper on a nearby tray table.

The paper flares instantly, rises with its own heat, and floats, burning, to the floor where Morrison grinds it out. Daniel and Hershey are hustled off the stage by one of medical staff, moments later Teal’c arrives, and the rest, as they say, is history.

I pause the DVD and without turning, inquire as calmly as possible, “What the hell possessed you to pull a stunt like that? Was I speaking one of the few foreign languages you don’t know when I told you there was no way you were going to have the dog jumping through a flaming hoop inside a building?”

Behind me, Daniel sighs wearily. “I tried to explain, Jack. It wasn’t really burning. And you only said we couldn’t use a burning hoop, you didn’t say flaming hoop. So I figured out how to make it not burn.”

I do an about face and hold out my burnt hand. “And this, too, is a figment of my imagination?”

“I told you, I can fix that.”

“Ahhht! Don’t, I’m not interested in your hocus pocus tonight. What I do want to know is how the hell that rock plays into this whole dog and pony show.”

Daniel frowns. 

Hershey and Teal’c remain silent.

“The rock doesn’t do anything. It’s just a thing. I use it to help me concentrate.”

“Concentrate on what?”

Another frown, followed by a shrug. “On what I’m doing.”

“Like making the rock burst into flame?”

“Yes.”

“And transfer the fire from your hands to the hoola hoop?”

“Yes.”

“What else does it do?”

“What do you mean what else does it do? Nothing, it’s a naimate object.”

“Inanimate?”

“Yeah, nanimate. It doesn’t have any powers of its own.”

My hand is throbbing in time with my heart, my head is beginning to pound as well, and I’m pretty sure we had this exact same conversation a week ago, except I don’t think he’d discovered yet that he could control fire. So what’s it going to be next week? Water from the rock?

“Go to bed, Daniel. I’ll come and get you when I’m ready to go home.” 

Without protest, he climbs down from his chair, stalks over to the bed and climbs up. He peels back the covers, kicks off his miniature desert boots and crawls under, holding the sheet and blanket up for Hershey who also hopped down from the table and trotted after him.

“Goodnight, Teal’c.” And after a longish pause. “’night, Jack,” though the tone is grudging.

I’m none to happy either, but I put the feet in motion and cross the room. “’night, Sport. I love you.” For my effort, I’m rewarded with a turned head when I bend down to kiss him goodnight, so I graze an ear instead of his temple. However, in the act of bending over him, I feel the warmth he’s radiating, as though he’s taken all the heat of the fire into himself.

Teal’c takes my place, bending over him as I step back from the bed, and is allowed to drop a kiss on his forehead. 

It appears, for the moment at least, it’s only me in his black books. 

“Goodnight, Danieljackson. Slumber unagitatedly.”

“It’s sleep peacefully, Teal’c,” our linguist mutters.

“Of course,” the big guy replies quietly as he turns and follows me out of the room. “I will stay with him until you return, O’Neill.” He pulls the door almost closed and queries, “What will you do?”

“Hell if I know.” I swipe my hand over my face. “I wonder if this is why Oma is hanging around? Coaching, maybe? Egging on? Watching over? I don’t have the foggiest idea where to even begin to rein this in.”

That’s not exactly true. I still want that rock. But I have no idea how to go about relieving Daniel of it without starting World War III in the Jackson-O’Neill household. 

The rock has become the focal point of his existence. He won’t sit down to eat without the rock sitting by his plate. It goes in the bathtub with him. It goes to bed in his hand every night. He refuses to wear pants without pockets anymore, so he can always have the rock on him when he’s awake. 

Carter says the rock is just a rock, there’s nothing harmful about it, nothing in the ore, no animal, vegetable, or mineral, that could be detrimental to Daniel. But every time he uses it, it seems to me there’s less of my kid and more of this new detached, emotionally-guarded, screw-you, Jack, kid. It’s like having adult Daniel from four or five years ago, with all his little foibles exaggerated to near caricature status, living in our house. 

There are so many bits and pieces of this overall scenario I’m not comfortable with, and yet people like Morrison are telling me the composition he’s created from the bits and pieces is beneficial, even valuable. 

I feel like I’m between a rock and a hard place, no pun intended. I can’t let this go on – but how do I stop it before we have a train wreck?

And how do you discipline a genius linguist who also has a near photographic memory? And not just for things he’s sees, but everything he hears. He’s right; I didn’t say flaming, I said burning, and until it left his hand, the damn hoop was not burning. Much like his adult self would constantly argue - strictly speaking, he wasn’t breaking any rules. 

On the other hand, he knew perfectly well I wouldn’t be happy about it, therefore the pre-emptive strike to try and keep me from coming down to watch the show tonight. I suppose it requires seven-year-old logic to come at why he thought I wouldn’t find out. 

Maybe I should go bang my head against the wall; it can’t feel any worse.

* * *

You’d think, from the atmosphere at home and inside the Mountain, I’d locked him in his room for a year on bread and water, instead of settling for a promise that there will be no more stunts with fire, period, and taking away computer privileges for the week. He’s also been confined to the classroom, which means no shows this week.

At home, I’m getting the Daniel-Jackson-special on the cold shoulder. And let me tell you, this incarnation is as good at it as his adult self; though maybe I’m just more susceptible to it from this incarnation. If he deigns to speaks to me, it’s via the dog – Hershey, tell Jack I’m not hungry, or, Hershey, tell Jack I’m going to bed. If we had a dog house, I’d be sleeping in it.

And I still don’t have the rock, which probably means I should be worrying about a second biblical flood if his next trick is going to be water from the damn thing. I made sure the hoola hoop is history, so I know they’re not up in his room practicing any more voodoo stunts with fire – I should amend that – I know they’re not up there practicing any voodoo stunts with fire that involve a hoola hoop. I have no idea what they’re doing up in his room, which - about every other minute - makes my blood run cold, but nothing I’ve tried has met with success, so I’m done making overtures. 

The little shit is holding tenaciously to his high moral ground. He didn’t break any rules, so why is he being disciplined? 

I suspect there’s a conspiracy going on to facilitate a reinterpretation of Daniel’s discipline here on base, but they’ve been smart enough to keep it underground and I haven’t bothered to call security’s bluff the couple times they’ve given me the, “He’s in the bathroom, sir,” line. I figure by the time I get down there to check, Daniel will be safely back where he belongs anyway. 

So I’m kind of surprised when Chief Master Sergeant Harriman sticks his head in the door of the briefing room to announce, “Sir, Security is on the phone for Colonel O’Neill. Colonel, they said you would want to be interrupted.”

We’re three days in to this, and frankly, I figured I was going to be one to throw down my cards. I wait for Hammond’s nod of dismissal before pushing back from the table.

“Take it in my office, Jack.”

The Security officer is succinct, ending with, “I’m sorry, sir. We should have checked it out sooner.”

Ya think? “I’m on my way,” is all I say. “Sir, I -”

“Go,” Hammond waves me off. “We’ll finish here.”

“Thank you, sir.”

An SF is waiting at the elevators on 17 and leads me, unerringly, through a maze of corridors to Storage Room 17-39. He swipes a card through the reader, opens the door and steps back.

The aroma is enough to knock me back a step or two, though I’ve smelled a lot worse. It’s so overpowering, I can actually taste it breathing through my mouth.

It takes a minute for the full impact of the macabre scene to unfold in my brain. My mind catalogs the twinkling Christmas lights strung through the posts of the metal shelving framing three sides of the smallish room. It inventories the blanket in the corner, the six-pack of chocolate milk, and the chocolate-covered graham crackers, along with the shakable flashlight. It clinically notes the pile of shards in the center of the room. It requires another visual sweep before I actually register the Siler-sized hammer camouflaged in the deep shadows of the shelves. 

If my knees protest as I squat to sift through the shards, it doesn’t register. My stomach heaves though, with anguish. 

The remnants of a 3,000-year-old death mask tops the pile, it’s hung behind adult Daniel’s desk for ten years. The source of the overpowering smell is a cracked and spilled pot of unguent that was probably sealed before Christianity became a religion – one of the few things he still had from his parent’s Egyptian digs. My fingers brush a largish shard of pottery that looks like a piece of the Abydonian bowl from his wedding to Sha’re. I recognize the face of a squat little statue he kept on his desk I’m pretty sure he’s told me dates back to the Ming Dynasty. The face is the only whole piece left. Those are just the things I can identify. The circle is a least two feet in diameter and filled with glittering rubble several inches thick.

I think I’m going to be sick. 

“Sir-“ the SF tries to warn me as I’m nearly knocked off my precarious perch on my heels when a small torpedo slams into my shoulder. 

What the hell was he doing? Day dreaming?

A kicking, biting, hitting, screeching fury is raining miniature blows on me before I can get my bearings. 

Not fair, I suppose, to expect the SF to be on sentry duty, he’s probably as appalled as I am and just as dumbstruck.

‘Sir? What – ?” the airman shouts above the mélange of howling dog and shrieking kid.

I snatch the flaying fists, manacle them with one hand, and haul him between my knees where I can semi-contain the kicking and biting. “Get the dog and get him out of here!”

“Yes, sir.” The SF grabs Hershey firmly by the collar and drags him out of the room.

“Shut the door,” I grunt as Daniel connects with a singularly vulnerable part of my anatomy and I land on a similarly at-risk – to hard concrete at least – part of my body. The uncontrolled, awkward fall has the beneficial affect of landing the kicking, biting, clawing, still screeching fury in my lap and instinct takes over. Folded in half, with his arms tucked between his knees and his chest, he has much less range-of-motion, and therefore considerably less potency. It does nothing whatsoever to quiet the shrieked obscenities about my ancestry, my person, or the abuse I am heaping on him.

This is so not my kid. 

Daniel, in any incarnation, could never be this vile, this appallingly vulgar. It’s a long twenty minutes before the obnoxious language gives way to low, keening sobs, and another ten minutes before the rigidity begins to leech from the small body in my arms. He deflates slowly, like a pin-pricked balloon. 

When his fingers curl around my wrist, I begin to rock slightly, and on a long sigh, he wipes his nose - on his own shirt, thankfully - and tentatively squirms a bit. I ease my hold and allow him enough maneuvering room to settle, though I don’t make the mistake of letting him go. 

He sighs again, deeply. “You shouldn’t have come here, Jack.” The small voice is flat, devoid of emotion. “Now I’ll just have to start all over again.”

Okay, not what I was expecting at all. “Start over with what?”

“Appeaselment.”

“Appeaselment,” I parrot stupidly. “You mean appeasement?”

“Yes. They’ll be really angry now.”

“Who will be angry, Daniel?”

“Orinea and Watoomah.”

Realization dawns with apalling clarity. “You’re - sacrificing -” even the word tastes foul in my mouth, “your things to appease the Rezulin deities?”

“You should be glad I was able to appeasel them with my own stuff!” For a moment, he’s animated again. “They wanted me to take stuff from General Hammond and Sam and Teal’c and you.” He subsides and the flatness returns for the follow-up. “I don’t know what they’ll make me do now.”

Perspective. Keep this in perspective, O’Neill. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t. They said if I telled they would take away . . .” he sits up abruptly. “What did that SF do with Hershey?” He bucks in my arms, making an aborted attempt at freedom.

“They’re right outside the door. Shhh! Be quiet and listen!” 

He stills momentarily and we hear the dog barking madly outside the closed door, which deflates him again. 

It’s no leap of the imagination to figure out what they threatened to take away. I swear if this keeps up I’m going after that Telchek Fountain of Youth device, with or without permission. I’m too old to deal with this kind of crap. “Daniel, I want the rock.”

“The rock? Why do you want the rock?” His fingers scrabble frantically at my wrist when I don’t bother to ask again, just fish it out of his flap-pocket. “It’s not the rock, Jack!” 

“I’m not arguing about it this time.” 

With a strength born of desperation, or maybe possession, he shoves against my chest and catapults out of my arms, tumbling head over heels through the broken shards of pottery, but ultimately landing on his feet. He snatches something off the shelf that housed the hammer and shoves it in my face, screaming again, though this time there are actual words. “They live in this! Not the rock! Orinea and Watoomah have nothing to do with the rock! Give it back!”

Talk about déjà vu. Is anyone else having flashbacks to another storeroom and another obsession that nearly cost us Daniel?

I fold my arms across my knees and wait.

“THAT’S MY ROCK! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TAKE MY ROCK! GIVE IT BACK RIGHT NOW!” 

I’m peppered with a few more obscenities before he runs out of steam again. Either that, or reason and sanity make a reappearance. 

The screaming falters mid-obscenity and whatever he’s waving in my face gets pulled back against his chest. He staggers back a step or two, puts a hand out to the nearest shelf, and drops his chin to his heaving chest. There’s a momentary pause before he lifts his head and looks around for his glasses. 

They’re at my feet. Silently, I pick them up and hand them to him.

When he reaches for them, I see the object in his hand is the totem I brought back from Rezula. He tucks it under his arm in order to use both hands to put his glasses back on, then brushes the hair from his eyes, and with a resolute sigh, he squats in front of me. “Orinea and Watoomah don’t live in the rock; they don’t have anything to do with the rock. They’re in here,” he says, offering the totem displayed like a gift on the flat of his outstretched palms. “If they take Hershey because you made me tell you, I will never forgive you, Jack. Now please give me back my rock.”

I’ve come up against some pretty weird things in my career, some even weirder things since Daniel opened the Stargate and we’ve been traveling through it regularly. But I have to admit this is a first for me; I’ve never been up against a possessed totem. “When did that – thing – start telling you to smash artifacts?”

“What?” Daniel sinks to his knees, arms still stretched straight out in front of him as if he’s presenting his offering to his god. “Oh.” He flicks a glance at his presentation object, but looks back up at me. “A few days ago.”

“Since the episode with the hoola hoop?”

His face scrunches up with the effort of recall. “Uhm, that was just last Saturday night? No, it was before that. I don’t remember when it started. Please, can I have my rock, now?”

“What do they want with your artifacts?”

“Nothing,” he huffs. “It was mostly Orinea, anyway. Watoomah never made me bring things.”

“But why smash them?”

“I don’t know. It was a ceremonious thing with her. She told me if I didn’t bring her things, she would take Hershey.”

“Take Hershey where?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats, a little more hollowly. “Away, I guess. I was afraid she meant she would kill him.” He stops to listen and Hershey barks accommodatingly. “How will you stop her from taking him away? She’s a spirit, Jack.” He lowers his arms slowly and sets the totem on the floor between us. “Not human like us.”

Good question. And one I don’t have an answer for. “We’ll figure something out. Does she stay in the totem, or does she come out and talk to you in person?”

“Like Tonane’s spirits you mean?”

“You remember Tonane’s spirits?” I’d like to forget them myself.

“Sort of, a little bit. I don’t think Orinea is like Tonane’s spirits though.”

“How so?”

“I think she’s more like the Goa’uld. She’s more interested in being worshipped than helping the Rezulins’.”

Remind me to pay more attention to Menard’s gut instincts from here on out. “But she’s not a Goa’uld?”

“How could she be? She’d have to be a parabolic worm and live inside a host to be a Goa’uld,” Daniel points out with perfect logic.

“Okay, so she’s not a parasitic worm, which means she can’t jump from host to host. In which case, if we smash the totem, she’ll be gone, right?”

Daniel’s eyes widen, then narrow. “That’s too easy,” he says, though he’s clearly mulling over the ramifications. 

Where the hell is big Daniel when I need him? He’d at least have some idea of what might happen if we destroy the artifact. On a sigh, I slide up to my knees and bang on the door. “Clayton, get -” The door opens to admit our teammates. “Never mind. Hey, guys, can’t imagine how you came to be on level 17 standing outside a storage closet.”

“General Hammond sent us.” Carter drags her BDU shirt over her mouth and nose as she steps into the room. 

Teal’c takes one look around the storage room and meets my troubled gaze. He remains standing, though he locks his hands behind his back as he looks down at Daniel. “What is the meaning of this Danieljackson?”

“Holy Hannah!” Carter’s identified pieces of the rubble Daniel’s kneeling position is half blocking from their sight. “You broke the perfume jar.” Though maybe she’s identifying from smell alone.

“Teal’c, any idea what will happen if we add that thing to the pile of rubble?” I sit back and toe the no-longer-fascinating artifact I brought home. 

“I do not know; however, I would be happy to accommodate your desire in this regard.”

Carter’s still trying to take it in. There’s no doubt she understands what’s been happening in here too. I think the part she’s still having trouble processing is Daniel doing something like this.

For Daniel, even in this incarnation, to willfully destroy anything, but especially artifacts of this antiquity, is beyond comprehension. And don’t make the mistake of imagining he didn’t understand what he was doing. He was fully aware how old these things are he’s smashed to smithereens. 

What I can’t figure out is how the hell he managed to sneak them past the SF’s I’ve had posted in his office since he told me about the Oma incident, unless he’s being less than honest about how long this has been going on.

“Threat assessment, Carter?”

“I have no idea either, sir. But I’m with Teal’c. Something has to be done.”

“I want Hershey.”

Oh, for cryin’ out loud. We’re going to have half the base in here before we’re done with this. “Clayton,” I raise my voice to yell through the closed door, “send in the dog.”

An anxious Hershey bounds into the room, makes a beeline for the kid, and sniffs and slurps until he’s satisfied everything’s copasetic. 

“Are we drawing straws to see who gets to do the honors? Carter, the hammer is on the shelf behind you.”

“I think we should all take a turn, sir.”

“Good idea. Start us off.”

Daniel and Hershey scuttle back away from the totem and Carter takes a swing at it.

I swear the thing shrieks with fury, or possibly fear, as the hammer descends. The first blow glances off the octopus like rain off a rain-x’d windshield. The second breaks a tentacle and the third cleaves the thing in half. 

Carter hands the tool off to Teal’c, who brings the flat of the hammer down on the octopus with both hands. Slivers of stone fly, like shrapnel, in every direction. Miraculously, no one is impaled. 

It’s better than whack-a-mole and far superior to anything MacKenzie’s licensed to practice, not to mention thoroughly satisfying to feel the thing grinding to dust under the head of the hammer.

Daniel gets to pound the remaining bits into sand, which he does with gusto, then bends down and sweeps the pile of bits and pieces into the larger heap. “There,” he says, dusting off his hands. “That will fix it!” He edges around the pile to wrap an arm around my leg as I push off the floor. “Won’t it, Jack?” 

Hershey follows, twining around both of us until he nearly knocks me off balance. 

“Let’s get out of here.” I scoop up our kid and head for the door, stumbling over the dog again as he rushes past. “I think our job here is done for the day.”

“They won’t be able to take Hershey now, will they?”

“They couldn’t do anything to Hershey before, Daniel. They still can’t.” I hope.

“But Tonane’s spirits could make people and things disappear. What if they’re not really gone, they’re just hiding?” Daniel grabs my face in both hands. “Jack? How’re you going to keep him safe?”

“Nothing is going to happen to Hershey.”

“How is it the spirits were able to commune with you, Danieljackson?”

Daniel mumbles something unintelligible.

“Speak clearly, please, so that we may understand you,” Teal’c instructs in his professor voice as our little parade follows the SF back to the elevators. 

Good thing we have him, none of us thought to bring bread crumbs, though the dog is actually at the head of the procession. Hershey runs ahead several yards then turns to bark at us, as though he can’t put adequate distance between us and that room quickly enough. 

“The totem Jack brought me. They talk to me through the totem.”

“How?” I ask. 

Daniel shrugs again. “I don’t know. They just do.”

“I think what the Colonel is asking is do you hear them inside your head, or do they talk to you like we are now?” Carter picks up the ball and does a competent juggling act. “Can you hear them with your ears or are you hearing them with your mind?”

“Both,” he responds, as though hearing spirits any which way is really no big deal. 

“Could you communicate with them, Daniel? Did they hear you too?”

“Yeah.” Daniel looks over my shoulder at her. “Well, mostly Orinea, Watoomah just wanted me to keep Orinea happy.”

“What of Carlichich?”

“I never met her, just the other two.”

“So, they talked to your through the totem?”

“Uh huh,” the kid repeats like we’re all being a little dense.

We round the corner to the corridor with the elevators, and Daniel, as if the last half hour had never happened, wants to be put down so he can run my card reader through the slot.

Oh to be that resilient. This one’s going to haunt me for awhile. Bad call letting stuff come home from off-world, O’Neill; you never know what you might be bringing home.

As we board the elevator and push the button for twenty-seven - I have an interrupted briefing to return to – Daniel turns to me. “Now can I have my rock back?” He extends his hand imperatively, in the firm belief that I’m going to cave.

“No.” Diplomacy in this situation will not gild the lily. 

While I imagine it would be pretty crowded in that smallish habitat if Watoomah and Orinea decided to exchange homes, I’m not taking any chances. The rock will be destroyed as well. 

The happy grin morphs into an evil glare. “That’s not fair! I told you about Orinea and let you smash them so you would give me the rock back. It has nothing to do with what happened in that storeroom, Jack. Now give it here.”

Daniel in imperious mode is a hoot, big or little. Swallowing my grin nearly chokes me, but I do it. “I’m sorry if you thought I’d agreed to give you the rock back; that was never up for negotiation.”

The hands ball into fists and settle on his hips as he scowls at me. “You better give me that rock back, or I’ll have Teal’c beat you up! Teal’c gave me that rock in the first place, you can’t take it away.”

“As your guardian, O’Neill has every right to confiscate anything he deems detrimental to your well being, Danieljackson. While the rock does not appear to be the cause of the damage that has been done already, it too, may harbor secrets we have yet to unlock. It would be unwise of O’Neill to return the rock to you at this time.”

Yeah, what he said.

“I’ll tell General Hammond. He’ll make you give me back the rock!” Daniel tears off the elevator like the hounds of hell are after him, the ever faithful Hershey on his heels.

“Do you need me anymore, sir?”

“Uh, no. Did I call you in the first place?”

Carter smiles sheepishly. “Not exactly, sir, though we both were headed down here when the General found us.”

I just nod. While this phenomenon isn’t unique to SG-1 - other teams who’ve been together a long time have mentioned similar intuitive experiences - since Daniel descended, it’s been a lot stronger among the four of us. 

“I will be available shortly, to resume lessons; I will not allow myself, or Danieljackson, to be diverted this afternoon.”

“I’ll drop him off at the classroom then, when he’s finished debriefing the General on my heinous crime.” I have the distinct feeling the atmosphere around me is going to be distinctly chillier for the foreseeable future. 

“I will endeavor to be there before the pair of you.”

“I’m going to go shut things down, I think I’ll keep you company this afternoon,” Carter offers.

Teal’c inclines his head. “I believe your presence with us would be invaluable, Majorcarter. Perhaps we could spend some time scouting locations for our next geocaching adventure.”

“That’s a great idea, Teal’c. Maybe we can distract him from this whole rock thing.” 

I probably shouldn’t admit it, but an insane stab of jealousy snatches my breath for an instant. To know, in all likelihood, Carter and Teal’c will be able to cajole him out of his sulk hurts like hell. 

Carter gives me a sympathetic wince and a grimace before wheeling around to head back to the elevators and her own lab. Teal’c turns on his heel to follow.

“Uh, sir?” Carter yanks around abruptly, her long strides eating up the distance she’s just covered. “What would you think if I gave Daniel a substitute rock? I’ve sent most of it on to Area 51 already, but I have a few pieces left.”

“That would be a no, Carter. At least for now. If he can do his hocus pocus without the rock, then we’ll have to deal. Though once we’ve figured out if it’s that particular rock, I would like to see if any rock can be used.”

Carter gives me an odd smile. “Good thinking, sir. I’ll put them away for now.”

I tip her a two-fingered salute and we part again. Teal’c’s holding the elevator for her. The trip hammer masquerading as my heart still hasn’t settled down, so I’m really glad, if insanely jealous, they’ll both be with Daniel this afternoon. I don’t think the impact of this little scenario has fully sunk in with him yet.

By the time I reach the office, Daniel has commandeered a seat on the General’s desk and is jabbering away well above the verbal speed limit at a perplexed looking Hammond. 

“Colonel? You took something that belongs to Dr. Jackson and won’t give it back to him?” The General looks to me for an explanation.

“The rock, sir.”

“Oh.” Hammond holds up a hand, stopping Daniel’s monologue. “You didn’t tell me it was the rock.”

“Well, I didn’t see the point, sir. It belongs to me. Teal’c brought it to me, not Jack. And Jack has no right to take it away just because I’m little and can’t stop him. I want you to make him give it back.”

“I see. Do you suppose you could have come to point a little sooner?”

“I thought you would want to hear all the facts of the case, sir,” Daniel says earnestly, batting those baby blues for maximum effect.

I lean against the doorjamb and fold my arms across my chest, awaiting the verdict and wondering just how much Daniel’s told him.

“Suppose I have the Colonel give me the rock and I’ll have it for safe keeping until such time as we determine whether or not the rock is harmful to you, Dr. Jackson?”

“But it’s not!” Daniel explodes, recognizing his moral high ground is rapidly slipping away. “That’s what I was just trying to tell you. Obviously you weren’t listening, General!”

“Daniel!” I shove off the doorjamb, but the General raises his hand again.

“I’m sorry, Daniel. I heard everything you said, but like the Colonel, I don’t think that rock is beneficial to your overall health and wellness. And if there’s even a chance the Rezulin spirits might attempt to make the rock their next home, none of us want to see you held hostage by them again.”

“But, sir,” Daniel wails, “I need that rock! We can’t do our show without it.”

“Both Dr. Fraiser and Dr. Warner have stopped by to tell me how much their patients have benefited from the entertainment you and Hershey have provided. But even good things come to an end. You had a good run, son, but if you can’t do the show without the rock, then it seems to me you shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

“You don’t understand,” Daniel snarls, sliding his booted feet onto the arm of Hammond’s chair and pushing off the desk so he can jump to the floor. “Come on, Hershey. We may as well go back to solitary confinement. Nobody’s going to listen to us. They’ll be sorry though, you wait and see.”

“Excuse me one second, sir.” 

Hammond nods and I follow the pair into the hall. “Stop, Daniel.”

He hesitates mid-stride and almost stops, but in that split second hesitation I’m guessing he rethinks his instinctive response to my tone of voice and decides to ignore it. Both of them continue down the hall at a trot with barely a break in stride.

The swat to his six gets his attention real quick. Daniel grabs his ass and swings around to stare accusingly at me. “I don’t have to do what you tell me, you’re not a real parent and I’m not a real kid and you can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do,” he hisses at me. “And you hit me!”

“I did not hit you, I got your attention. I may not be your real parent, but I am a real parent, Dr. Jackson. Would you like me to further demonstrate that fact?” I’ve learned these conversations don’t go over well when I’m towering over him, so I drop to my heels in front of him. “And while you may not be a real kid, you’re sure acting like one right now, so if you don’t want to be treated like a kid, don’t behave like one. You will march yourself right back into the General’s office and apologize immediately.”

“Why would I do that?” he snaps. “I’m not apologizing for telling the truth. You’re not listening to me! None of you are!”

“Disagreeing with you does not mean we didn’t hear you. Your response to the General and to me was extremely disrespectful. I don’t care if you’re big or little, I will not tolerate your being insolent to anyone, let alone a superior officer.”

“I’m not military and never will be,” he practically spits at me.

“You still get a paycheck from here, Dr. Jackson. Until that stops, you will treat everyone in this facility with the respect they deserve, including Carter, Teal’c and me. You will go back in there and apologize to General Hammond and then you will go directly to the classroom and wait for Teal’c. When I’m ready to go, I will pick you up down there.”

“You can’t order me around.” Daniel plants his feet in a wide stance, crosses his arms over his chest and glowers at me with all the wrath of seven-year-old can muster.

I raise an eyebrow and rise to my feet; sometimes towering can be very effective. “Unless you’d like to experience the consequences of further defiance, I recommend you obey immediately.” 

He hesitates only a second longer before muttering under his breath, “I hate you,” as his feet turn to take him back in the direction of Hammond’s office. 

Slumping a shoulder against the wall, I wait for the 45 seconds it takes in Hammond’s office, wait while he marches back down the hall, Hershey still shadowing his every move, use my card to call the elevator for them, and wait some more for it to come and take away my personal migraine-inducer. 

The walk back to Hammond’s office doesn’t take long enough. “I apologize, as well, sir. I -”

“Dr. Jackson has never pulled his punches, Colonel,” Hammond interjects. “I would hardly expect him to now when he has even less of a grasp of the niceties of protocol.”

“I have no idea what to do, sir. I suspect his brain may be downloading information faster than he can process it. That Desala woman specifically told me in this form he has more control of his ascended capabilities than he did as an adult. I think a more accurate assessment would be that he has more access to them, not necessarily more control.” I give him a quick synopsis of the storeroom debacle, though apparently security has already given him a run down, too. I note, with weary resignation, the flinch he can’t suppress. “I realize this could have been a huge security risk, sir. We won’t be bringing anything back from off-world again.”

“There’s more to it than just that, Jack. We can’t keep sidestepping the issue.”

“Yes, sir.” It’s my turn to sigh. “Daniel was always a better chess player; despite my edge in strategy, he can still out think me, sir. He isn’t aware of that in this incarnation. Yet.”

“Do we need to consider confining him to the base?”

“I don’t want to go there, sir, until we absolutely have to.”

“I fully understand the sentiment. What I need to know is – are you objective enough to make the call, Colonel?”

He deserves an honest answer, even if I don’t want to give it. “No, sir.” I could add I lost my objectivity when it comes to my team several hundred light years ago, but I don’t. 

Hammond only sighs again. “There may come a time,” he starts – stops – and starts again. “In the meantime we’ll deal with this one day at a time.”

“Right.” I should probably be giving thanks to that God I’m not sure I believe in for a commanding officer who is tolerant of my own less-than-stellar adherence to protocol and who also shares the belief that objectivity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. “Anything else I should know about the briefing, sir?”

“Nothing crucial. Though there is one other thing. Do you think we should recall Colonel Edwards and his team? At last report they were ahead of schedule on the trenching and already laying pipe.”

“I take it there have been no reports of funny business planet side, sir?”

“No, but this incident with Dr. Jackson has me concerned.”

“I don’t know about recalling them, sir. I do know those people need our help and I doubt an adult could be manipulated like Daniel was. Though we should probably give Edwards a heads up on what happened here.”

“Critical enough we should send someone right away? Or wait for their next call-in?”

“Ahhh - I suppose if it was me out there, I’d want to know right away.” 

“My thought as well. I’ll send a couple of Major Warren’s team. They need something to do besides haunt the infirmary.”

“How is Steve, sir? I haven’t seen Fraiser today, or been down to the infirmary.”

“He’s holding his own, just barely. Which reminds me, Dr. Fraiser informed me you’ve failed to report to the infirmary to have that burn checked, Colonel. She wants to see you before you leave today.”

Oh, crap.

”Why don’t you go now, while you’re thinking about it?” Hammond says pleasantly.

“Oh, I can think of a dozen other things far more important that need doing right away, sir.”

”I’m sure you can. Don’t make me make it an order, Colonel.” 

“On my way, sir. Uhm . . . thank you, sir.”

“For?” Hammond glances at me puzzled, as he picks up the phone. “Sergeant, rustle up the members of SG-3 and send them to my office as soon as possible . . . thank you.”

“Nothing, sir. Just being yourself.”

“Glad to oblige,” he grins, “whenever possible that is.”

If I ever have to fly a desk - god forbid - I hope I can measure up to his standards. They’ll be hard pressed to replace him when the time comes for him to retire for good.

“Colonel?”

“Sir?”

“The rock?”

“Oh. Right.” I pull the rock out of my own pocket. “What are you going to do with it, sir?”

“Wait and see if it starts talking to me?” With a twinkle and an almost wink, General Hammond opens his middle desk draw and deposits the rock in the pen tray. “I’ll keep you posted.”

* * *

“Sam’s rock doesn’t work.” Daniel body slams my office door open, waits barely long enough for Hershey to trot through and slams it shut with both hands. The rock clangs as it rebounds off the side of the metal trash can and dings the bottom.

“Well, thank you for trying it, I appreciate that you at least did that much.” 

Finally, an absolute. This rock doesn’t work! Yay!

“I don’t want to be reasonable. I don’t want you to pat me on the head and tell me I did good.”

Shoving back from the desk, I throw down my pen and lean back in the ancient, wooden arm chair I prefer. “What do you want from me, Daniel? Besides the rock, which, you know very well, I don’t have anymore.”

“I know where it is and I’m just going to go get it.”

“That would not be a very wise choice, now, would it?”

Hershey woofs approvingly.

When Daniel says nothing further, I take the hint and ask again, “So what do you want from me?”

Apparently some time over the last two days, a great deal of the adult Daniel has resurfaced in this incarnation. He’s in intense confrontation mode.

“I want to know why you don’t believe me. Have I ever, in our acquaintance, lied to you?”

“Well, now that’s a tricky question. Do I believe you’ve ever told me a bold-faced lie? No. But there have been circumstances where you’ve withheld facts that certainly could be construed as lying to me.”

“Excuse me,” he states firmly, “that’s only from your perspective.”

“Want to talk about a storeroom on Level 17?”

“I never lied about that room!”

“Then you don’t consider sneaking valuable things out of your office in any way, shape, or form – lying?”

For a moment he stares at me, then snarks, “They were my things. It was nobody else’s business. And I didn’t take anyone else’s stuff even though Orinea tried to make me.” Seeing the pitfalls lying ahead if he continues pursing this path, he changes tack. “Why do you think I’m lying to you about the rock?”

“I never said you were lying, I don’t think you understand what the rock is doing to you.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand what the rock is doing for me and if you don’t let me have it back, you’ll regret it. I also want to go live with someone else until I’m big again. You hit me on purpose and you’re not even sorry.” He waits expectantly for a response to this zinger.

I let him stew for several seconds while I put together a diplomatic answer. “I’m very sorry circumstances arose that gave me little choice but to get your attention in a manner you didn’t appreciate. However, you’re right, I’m not sorry I spanked you. So I guess we better figure this out. Who do you want to stay with until you’re big again?”

For a brief second, the eyes widen behind the glasses, and Hershey woofs again. Interestingly enough, it’s at Daniel, not me.

“I want you to kick those people out of my house and I want someone to stay with me there.”

“They have a lease and I’m not kicking them out because you’re in a snit.”

Some of the confidence drains away and the miniature shoulders sag under the new weight. 

“How can you do this to me? You’ve told me over and over you love me, I don’t understand . . .” The bottom lip trembles. “Why does it hurt like this?”

If he’s manipulating me again, I’m going to break the little twerp in half.

The chair creaks like the ancient artifact it is as I get up and cross the few steps between us. My knees echo the chair as I grit my teeth and struggle to the concrete floor in front of him. Guess the island effect must have finally worn off.

“I suspect it hurts here, Daniel,” I lay my hand lightly over his heart, “because it feels like I’ve broken your trust. I’m very sorry for that too. But while you’re little, it’s our responsibility to make sure the environment around you is safe, that we don’t expose you to something that could hurt you, like the totem, or the rock. Have you thought about what might have happened if security hadn’t noticed something strange was going on down there on Level 17? What lengths would you have gone to keep Hershey safe?”

“It’s not the same,” he mutters mutinously. 

“You don’t think I would do everything I can to protect you, to keep you safe?”

“I’m trying to tell you, you don’t need to keep me safe, Jack! The rock isn’t hurting me, or making me do anything to appeasel it!”

“Yet every time you use it, you run a fever and after a show you’re so tired you have to lie down and sometimes even take a nap.”

He hefflalumps at me. “That’s not the rock.”

“You’re the one who told me using the rock makes you warm all over,” I point out.

“Being warm isn’t the same as having a fever,” Daniel shoots back, balling his fists on his hips. “I want my rock back, Jack.”

“The rock is gone, Sport, subject closed. Now, do we still need to talk about what happened the other day? If you think you’d be able to obey some other adult better, then let’s ask whoever it is you want to live with, I have no doubt anyone you ask will say yes in a heartbeat.”

“I’m not a kid, I don’t have to obey anyone!”

Oy. Can I phone a friend? Page Dr. Phil?

“There are all kinds of rules, Daniel, not just rules for little kids. Without rules there would be chaos. Suppose there were no traffic rules? There would be lots more car crashes than there are. And most accidents happen because someone wasn’t obeying the rules. I have to obey the rules of the organization I work for, or suffer the consequences of choosing not to. We had a little bit of this conversation two days ago. Even though you’re not military, when you were grown up you had to abide by the rules of this institution, too, because you work for it. If you choose not to obey, you’ll get fired and have to find another job. If I choose not to obey, I get thrown in jail, because I promised, when I took this job, to obey the rules and regulations. Society has rules, families have rules, hell the universe has rules that can’t be broken without dire consequences. No matter where you go or who you stay with there will be rules and consequences for breaking them.”

“I don’t want to live with anybody else, but if you’re going to be mean like that, I have to,” he gulps, trying valiantly to hold back tears.

Hershey nudges his arm in sympathy.

“If by mean, you’re suggesting that you don’t want to live with me if I’m going to spank you again, how do you think we could solve the problem?”

He drags an arm across his eyes and shuffles forward to lean against me. “You could promise, again, never to hurt me.”

“Ummmm, I will gladly promise, again, never to hurt you, but we have a difference of opinion if you think what happened the other day was intentional infliction of harm.”

“What’s that mean?” His head goes down on my shoulder and his arms go around my neck.

I slide an arm under his ass and push us both up off the floor so we can go back to the chair. Once we’re comfortably situated, and I’ve had a minute to gather my scattered wits, I try again. “First of all, does this still hurt?” I ask, patting his ass lightly.

“No.”

“And how bad did it hurt when it happened?”

His shoulders come up around his ears. “Don’ ‘member.” And the finger heads north for chewing.

“Since I barely connected, I’m guessing this is what really hurts, right?” I lay my hand over his heart again.

He nods slightly.

“Why do you suppose it doesn’t hurt here,” another pat to his behind, “but it hurts here?” This time I leave my hand over his rapidly beating heart.

Several sniffs and a few tears dampening my t-shirt precede, “I don’t know. Maybe because I broke your trust too?”

“How do you think you did that?”

“Because,” sniff, sniff, sniff, “I didn’t stop when you told me to ‘cause I was mad at you.”

“I think we’ve had several incidences of broken trust lately, starting clear back when that totem began talking to you and you didn’t tell me.”

“I told you why I didn’t tell you that,” he mumbles around the finger.

“Yes, but that doesn’t make not telling me right, does it?”

“But, Jack,” he shoves off my chest to look up at me earnestly, “I couldn’t let them take Hershey.”

“I doubt you remember it, but a long time ago, when you were still big, we agreed to always be honest with each other. I’m going to hold you to that promise, Daniel. Can you honestly tell me you believed I would have let something happen to Hershey if you’d told me what was going on with the totem?”

On a sigh he slumps back against me. “No. Probably not if I’d thought about it.”

I do this much better in a jet than I do in an arm chair – that would be flying by the seat of my pants for the uninitiated

“Reacting when we’re mad or frightened, without thinking things through, never results in the best choices. And while that’s easy to say, I fully understand it’s not so easy to accomplish. So how can we make our situation better now, so that you don’t have to go live with someone else?”

“Were you mad when you hit me?” 

“At the risk of repeating myself, I did not hit you. But the answer to your question is no, I was not mad at you.” I rest my cheek against the bright hair, inhaling the scent of No-More-Tears shampoo as if it was the rarest fragrance on Earth. 

Not that I’m in the habit of sticking my nose in big Daniel’s hair, but he doesn’t use No-More-Tears, and, all things considered, I might not have this smell around much longer. 

“Why is this so hard?” he wants to know, using the back of his arm to wipe his nose.

“That’s more your department than mine, Dr. Jackson. But you did tell me you’d finally figured out your meaning of life stuff awhile back.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.” Would it be rude to mention here, how relieved I am to be back in his good graces?

“Did it have anything to do with you and Sam and Teal’c?”

“Yep.”

“I was pretty smart, huh?”

“You’re still pretty smart, kiddo; way smarter than me.”

“Jack?”

“Daniel?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Sport.”

“I love you better.”

“But I love you best.”

“Nope, I love you bestest of all.”

The bell rings as round two comes to a screeching halt. And the winner is - Jack O’Neill, by default - because he has the kid who loves him bestest of all.

It’s been a long day and I still have two more meetings this afternoon; I’m already late for the next one. And destined to be later as I realize Daniel’s fallen asleep cuddled against me. I kiss the top of his head, slide down in the chair and toe open a bottom drawer to prop a foot on. 

All the information I’m missing will be there for retrieval later, for now the universe can wait. 

_This_ could be gone tomorrow.

* * *

“It’s a risk, sir, but one we’re willing to take. The Tok’ra are certain the power source is viable.”

SG-6 looks expectantly toward Hammond, who looks over at me.

“If the Tok’ra weren’t involved, I’d feel a lot better.” I shrug slightly. “I agree with Barnes, it’s a risk well worth taking if we come back with a power source, sir.”

“A calculated risk, with the odds in our . . .” Colonel Barnes starts, then stops mid-sentence to look over at me. 

In the sudden silence, I, too, hear the plodding footsteps and push back from the table. As I swivel my chair around Daniel appears at the top of the stairs, Hershey padding quietly beside him. 

He hesitates, one hand on the stair railing. 

“What’s wrong, Sport?”

“Are we interrupting?”

“Yes, but the deed is done. What do you want?”

“Can I sit with you?”

“Sure.” 

Daniel trudges over and points to the floor, where the dog immediately stretches out at our feet, head down on his paws, though his eyes never leave Daniel as I lift him on to my lap. 

I motion for the discussion to continue and Barnes resumes where he left off, though I’m focused on the kid rather than the on-going discussion.

“You okay, Sport?” I whisper.

“Can we go home soon?” he whispers back.

“Shows over for the day?”

He nods as he tucks himself up as small as possible in my lap and alternately chews and sucks that finger. 

“You feeling okay?” 

He’s not just warm, he’s hot. Hot enough I’m starting to sweat from the warmth he’s giving off.

He shakes his head slightly and sighs. “I want to go home.”

I’m sitting at the end of the table next to Hammond, who eyes us questioningly. “Something wrong?”

“I don’t think he’s feeling well, sir.” 

“SG-6, you have a go,” the General states, “SG-8 will provide back-up on this mission. Can you be ready to leave at 1400 hours?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want it clear this is a reconnaissance mission only. Under no circumstances will you attempt to take this thing by force.”

“Understood, sir.”

Hammond rises, adjourning the meeting. “Good luck then.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

SG-6 heads out in a knot, Barnes issuing orders for collecting gear, etc., as they file through the door. He pauses in the doorway to glance over his shoulder. “Nothing serious, is it?”

“I doubt it.”

“Hey, Sport,” Barnes says to Daniel, “hope you feel better soon.” 

The entire base has picked up the nickname. The only person who refers to him as Dr. Jackson anymore is the General and even he’s gotten out of the habit.

Daniel grunts in acknowledgement.

“Perhaps a visit to Dr. Fraiser would be in order?” Hammond queries, steepling his fingertips on the top of the briefing table.

“Yes, sir.” 

If it wasn’t the rock, what the hell is it? 

“How about it, Sport? Let’s go see Janet and then you can go lie down in our quarters, okay?”

“I want to go home,” he says again, plaintively. 

“I know you do. I’m sorry we can’t leave yet; there are things I have to finish before we can go home. But I’ll go down with you now to see Doc Janet, okay? If you want, I’ll go work in your office and you can lie down on the sofa in there.”

“I just want to go home. Please?” 

He’s near tears, I can hear it in his voice. Hammond and I exchange concerned looks.

“Daniel?” The General leans in to pat his back. “What happened, son?” 

“Nothing,” he responds quickly and with all the veracity of Pinocchio.

Which immediately alerts me the General’s on to something.

“Hey, Sport? We can’t help if you won’t tell us what happened.”

“Nothing happened. I just want to go home.”

“What’s on your desk that’s so pressing, Jack?” 

I shrug in frustration. “The usual, sir - reports, requisitions - reports.” 

As 2IC of the Mountain a lot of paperwork crosses my desk. Aside from that, we can’t shut down base operations every time Daniel doesn’t feel well. 

“We’ll manage. I’ll get Carter or Teal’c.”

“I don’t want Sam or Teal’c. I want you, and I want to go home.”

When I try to make him sit up, he refuses, burrowing further under my chin and the small arms fold over between us in that old self-hug. 

“All right, then, let’s go see Doc Janet.”

“No, I don’t want to go back to the infirmary. I just want to go home.”

Hammond and I exchange another involuntary glance. 

“Is Hershey in trouble again?” I ask, fishing for anything that will give me a clue as to what’s happened.

“No, why would Hershey be in trouble?”

“Are you in trouble with Dr. Fraiser?” the General inquires. 

“No. We didn’t do anything wrong.” 

There’s a slight inflection of panic though, so even if they aren’t in trouble, something happened down there that’s frightened Daniel and he doesn’t want to go back. 

Hammond picks up on it too. 

“Why don’t you take your paper work to Dr. Jackson’s office, Colonel, and let Daniel lie down in there.” His look telegraphs he’ll get to the bottom of this with Fraiser if at all possible. 

This is one time I have no qualms about taking advantage of Daniel’s current cluelessness. We’ve tried to be sensitive to the issue of making choices for him without his consent. Sometimes though, like now, we need to put aside the fact this is really a 39-year-old Daniel and deal with him like any other seven-year-old. 

“Good idea, General. Permission to relocate to Dr. Jackson’s office?”

“Make it so, Colonel,” Hammond says with a smile.

I tip a salute, do an about face and head for the door with my baby Goa’uld trying to burrow into my neck. It wouldn’t surprise me if when they do an autopsy on me someday, they find bits of Daniel twined around my brain stem. 

A detour to my office provides me with several hours of stimulating employment. Without ever putting Daniel down, I gather up what I need, and head for his lab. 

“Thanks, Airman, I’ll let you know when you’re needed again.”

Despite the fact I’m the Colonel, Daniel has the bigger office. He also gets paid more than I do because he’s a civilian consultant and for some reason the government perpetuates the free market notion that brains are worth more than brawn. Of course, if that were entirely true, Carter should be making big bucks too, but because the Air Force paid for her to fine tune the precision machine that is her brain, they don’t have any qualms about using it to their own ends. 

I dump the paper work on the desk next to his computer and go to the closet to pull out a blanket and pillow. 

“Want some juice, Sport?” 

He shakes his head, but I take some out anyway. 

The priceless artifacts that used to live in this closet have been crated and put in storage. It now houses juice boxes and finger paints, coloring books and chocolate-covered graham crackers, crayons and Hershey kisses, markers, puzzles, a deck of cards, several History Channel DVDs, and a few computer games. 

He doesn’t let go when I try to put him down on the sofa. 

“Daniel?” I sit down with a sigh, and try to shift him, but he’s having none of that either. “I need you to tell me what’s up, Sport.” There’s no response, except a tightening of his knees when I try again to peel him off my chest. “Five minutes and then I’m going to put you down.” 

I shove the pillow to the end of the sofa and wrap the blanket around him. Instead of shrugging it off as I half expect, he pulls it over his head so he’s tucked inside like a little mummy. 

For the next five minutes we rock and I rub his back. He’s a little less tense when the five minutes are up and it looks like another five minutes may put him to sleep, so I continue to rock. 

For a change, I’m right. The stiffness slowly leaches out of the small body and he doesn’t wake as I ease him down on the sofa, tucking the blanket around him and the pillow under his head. I make sure to lay him on his side so the minute he opens his eyes he’ll see me, four feet away at his desk. 

Hershey sticks his nose over the edge of the sofa, snuffles the sleeping kid once, and slumps back down on the floor.

“Sir?” Doc Fraiser asks quietly, startling me. 

I’m really getting bad lately, I didn’t hear her come in. “Hey. Thanks for coming down here, Doc.” I get up so she can sit down.

“No problem. What’s up? The General said Daniel flatly refused to come to the infirmary?” Janet takes my place and leans forward to draw the blanket down a little. “He and Hershey stopped by to visit Major Warren a little while ago. What happened in between?”

“I don’t know, but I’m beginning to worry there’s something seriously wrong, Doc. Could that rock have affected his immune system?”

“His white count has been fine every time I’ve drawn blood. His body isn’t acting like it’s throwing off any kind of infection.”

“Okay, so the rock is gone, he can’t do any more hocus pocus with it, and he told me earlier the replacement rock I let Carter give him this morning doesn’t work. So why’s he running a fever again? Do I need to shut down this dog and pony show all together?”

“Oh,” Fraiser sighs, “I’d hate for you to do that, sir. Laughter really is good medicine, and, I swear, one or two of my patients have walked out of the infirmary after one of their shows. Plus Daniel and Hershey get such enjoyment out of it. I would recommend that only as a last resort, Colonel.”

I pull the desk chair around and straddle it, crossing my arms over the back. “I thought when we got rid of that thing, this would go away.”

“It’s only been a couple of days, Colonel. Has his appetite improved any?”

“Not particularly.” 

Big or little, doesn’t matter, it’s always been difficult to get food into him. Eating has never been a priority for Daniel Jackson; he’d much rather be playing or working. 

Janet strokes a hand through Daniel’s hair, cupping the back of his head in her palm as she rubs her thumb repeatedly over his temple. “Hey, sweetie. I’m sorry to wake you, especially since you just went to sleep, but I need to take some blood and I don’t want to stick you while you’re sleeping. Okay if I take your arm?” She matches actions to words, sliding his arm out from under the blanket.

“’m okay,” he says, giving her a sleepy smile. “I just want to go home.”

“Hmmmm,” she moves the hand at his temple to his forehead. “You feel pretty warm to me, Sport.”

“No, I’m fine. I don’t feel bad, but I am tired, and I want to go home.”

“If you’re just tired you can go back to sleep right there. I’ve still got a lot of paperwork I need to get through today.”

“Can’t you take it home? I really want to go home, Jack.”

“Maybe you should come back to the infirmary with me and leave the Colonel in peace to finish his paperwork. I bet he’d get done a lot faster if he wasn’t worrying about you.”

“I’m fine,” Daniel insists, pushing Fraiser’s hand away in order to sit up. “Come here, Hershey,” he pats the sofa and the dog hops up obligingly. Daniel wraps an arm around him.

“Do you want some aspirin for that non-existent headache?” Abandoning the full frontal attack, Fraiser tries to sneak in under the radar.

Daniel’s having none of it. “Does aspirin make you feel not tired?” he wants to know.

“No,” Fraiser wrinkles her nose at him. “But if you’re really that tired, I could go see if I have some vitamins that might give you a little pep.”

“I don’t want vitamins, I want to go home. Why can’t we go home?” 

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go home. You’re running a fever again, Daniel. I’d really like you to come back to the infirmary with me.”

The first tear wells, plumping up like a dew drop on a pine needle, before slipping down the long lashes to plop on the smooth, rose-colored cheek. 

I close my eyes against his tears and grit my own teeth as the small jaw hardens. 

“Please, Jack? I’ll go straight to bed, I promise. I won’t bother you at all, for anything. Please, I promise I’ll be good and you can do your work. Please can’t we go home?”

I have to open my eyes to look at Fraiser who’s calling the shots here. 

Daniel stiffens and pulls back as she tries to put a comforting arm around him. 

“Sweetie, it’s not up to Jack. He has no say in the matter.”

“Yes, he does. Jack’s two eye cee of the Mountain. He’s a colonel, too, and you’re only a major. You have to do what he tells you.” 

Hershey noses Daniel’s ear.

“It doesn’t work that way when someone’s sick, Daniel. Not even General Hammond can let someone leave the base if I tell him no,” Janet says very gently.

“But I don’t work here anymore.” 

The rising panic is evident to both of us, but Fraiser’s obviously as baffled by this as Hammond and I. I’m pretty certain the General’s right though, something’s happened that’s frightened him at a level I’m not sure he’s capable of communicating in this incarnation. 

I push off the chair, step over it and in two strides, scoop Daniel up off the sofa. “Hey, buddy, Janet just wants to help you feel better.”

“I need my rock.”

“The rock, hmm?”

“The rock Teal’c gave me.”

“The rock’s gone, Daniel.” 

“I’m not sick,” he says again, scrunching himself up like a little isopod. “I’m just tired. I have to go home and find the rock.”

“Daniel, you know the rock’s gone. It’s not at home.” I jiggle him lightly and he responds with a grimace. “What?”

“Nothing.” And in defeat, “how long before we can go home?”

“Well, if you let me take you down to the infirmary where Doc Janet can run a few more tests and if you’ll take whatever she gives you to bring the fever down, she might still let us go home tonight. But I’m pretty sure that’s only going to happen if you cooperate.”

“I’m not going to the infirmary,” he says through clenched teeth. “I won’t go,” he repeats, sliding out of my loosened hold to clamber back up on the sofa. He snatches up the blanket, crawls up where he can lay down with his head on the pillow. and disappears underneath the covering. Hershey crawls up under the blanket as well and we watch Daniel turn on his side so he can put his arms around the dog. 

Fraiser tilts her head toward the hallway; lacking anything constructive to do or say, I follow her out without a word. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, sir. He’s definitely running a fever this time, this is no mild temperature. I’ll have the lab run these as quickly as possible and call you back.”

“Right. Guess I’ll be in here doing paperwork in the meantime.”

Even in steel-toed combat boots, kicking the wall savagely hurts, but at least it temporarily deflects some of my anger. What the hell was I thinking, bringing alien artifacts home to my kid?

* * *

“I don’t get it, he’s tired and running a fever, but there’s nothing wrong?”

All right, I know I’m a little paranoid, but nothing’s adding up right. In the world of science, two and two always add up to four. At least they used to, before I started this job.

On the other end of the phone, Fraiser sighs. “I don’t understand it either, sir. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Something’s got to give, Doc. And I don’t want it to be Daniel.”

“I understand, Colonel, and I agree one hundred percent, but I’m at a dead end. I think we need to consider admitting him at the base hospital and calling in a pediatric specialist, sir. I can’t imagine it’s anything serious, but given the history here, I’d prefer to err on the side of caution.”

I don’t want to go there, don’t even want to think about the stress and trauma of that kind of medical work-up on a seven-year-old. 

“Jack . . .”

I’m only Jack when it’s friend to friend, no longer C.M.O. to superior officer, so I know I’m in trouble.

“I think it might be wise to give him back the rock.”

“The rock is history, Doc.”

“Have you asked the General what he did with it?”

“No, and I’m not going to. That damn rock started this whole thing. As far as I’m concerned, it’s been destroyed.”

“Daniel swears it wasn’t harmful to him, sir.”

Because it’s not her fault and I know she’s doing everything she can, I keep my voice as even as possible. “Uh huh, Daniel – in any incarnation – thinks he’s the Man of Steel. He never believes anything will hurt him.” 

On the other end of the line, Fraiser sighs. “I know,” she agrees. “But we’re running out of options and he’s so insistent about that rock. I’m beginning to worry he might be right, sir.”

We’re back to sir, which means she’d like to push it, but won’t.

“I’ll talk to Hammond.” I sigh as well and scowl at the dog poking his head out from under the blanket. 

“I’d be happy to ask him about it, Colonel.”

“It’s not about who’s going to talk to him.”

“I know, I just thought maybe I could take that burden off you, one less thing you’d have to deal with right now, sir.”

“Thanks.” Have I mentioned lately how much I appreciate my people? “But I’ll talk to him. So, it’s okay to take Daniel home, then?”

“Yes, sir, I believe so. In the meantime, I’d like permission to pursue the option of setting up a complete work-up, just in case we can’t get to the bottom of this. I’d rather have it in place and not need it, then have to scramble in an emergency situation.”

“Right, I’ll clear it with Hammond as well.”

“Sir,” Fraiser hesitates, “it could be nothing.”

She doesn’t believe that any more than I do. This is Daniel we’re talking about. Why would the universe change its Daniel-policy now? That’d be about like the SGC suddenly saying, “Oh, let’s go visiting other planets just to absorb their knowledge and culture.”

“I’ll call the General.”

“Don’t hesitate to ca . . . sorry, emergency, sir.”

“I’ll keep you posted,” I tell the dial tone blaring in my ear. 

Hershey disappears back under the blanket as I dial Hammond’s extension. 

“Don’t wake him up yet, I’m not quite ready to go. Harriman, I need to speak to the General.” 

“He just left for the infirmary, sir.”

“What’s happening in the infirmary?” 

First Fraiser, now Hammond?

“At a guess, the crisis with Major Warren has reached a turning point. But I don’t know that for sure, sir.”

“Right. Thanks, Sergeant.” I hang up the phone again. 

I’ve known Steve Warren since the first Abydos mission and he’s been SG-3’s CO since Makepeace went dark side on us. He was seriously injured when his team was ambushed and cut off from the Gate, then had to wait for the standard check-in before we knew to send reinforcements.

Fraiser and Warner both said it was a miracle he survived the trip home. 

Steve’s a friend as well as a colleague. SG-3 has been together nearly as long as SG-1. 

“This is O’Neill, page Airman Wright back to Dr. Jackson’s office. Thanks.”

By the time I get there, it’s over. 

Fraiser is standing in the hall with General Hammond, she looks up and just shakes her head as I round the corner. 

“Crap.” I pause, then nod toward the infirmary. “May I?”

“Of course, sir.”

SG-3 is still gathered around, but they make room for me at the head of the bed.

I wonder briefly, when my time comes, if I’ll look as peaceful. “It was an honor to serve with him,” I murmur. “He was an extraordinary soldier.” 

There are various softly spoken acknowledgements and with a final salute, I leave them to their grief, knowing from experience, I’m an intruder right now. 

“Sir?” Hammond is still standing in the corridor, but Fraiser’s gone. “I know now’s probably not a good time, but the doc thinks maybe we should give Daniel back the rock.”

“I had Siler take it to the incinerator.” Hammond turns with me and we head back to the elevator. “Why?”

“It’s possible taking away the rock has done more harm than good.”

“Colonel?” 

The elevator opens and we board.

“I don’t believe that’s the case, sir, but I thought I’d better know what my options are ahead of time. Anyway, Fraiser ran some more tests and says they all came back negative, so I’m going to take Daniel home. Oh, I also gave her permission to set up a pediatric consult in case we need to pursue this further.”

“Of course, whatever it takes. I’ll make sure any clearances are issued immediately.”

Did I just mention how much I appreciate this family? “Thank you for putting up with us, sir.”

Hammond chuckles. “My pleasure, Colonel. You do whatever you have to do; I’ll take care of the clean-up.”

“You already own my soul, sir.”

“Dr. Jackson’s is worth quite a bit, too, Jack.” The elevator doors open and the General sticks his foot in the door to keep it open as I exit. “In the meantime, take our boy home.” 

“Yes, sir.”

I’m still rearranging puzzle pieces as I head down the hall toward Daniel’s office. I don’t think Daniel’s nasty little friends from the totem had an opportunity to move into the rock . . . oh, god. 

Surely if they’d moved into him there would be other signs – like glowing eyes or something? Thankfully, that scenario doesn’t feel right either. It’s not the answer, though it’s there, like a word on the tip of your tongue, or a corner-of-the-eye-glimpse of some esoteric fact that if I could just get my hands on it could fit all the pieces of this puzzle together.

Screw it, we’re going home. If that makes me inconsistent, too bad.

As I’m stuffing paperwork into one of adult Daniel’s old backpacks, little Daniel bolts up suddenly and careens off the sofa, stumbling into the counter before I can snatch him up. 

“Jack!”

“Right here, I’ve got you.” I grab his flaying hands and cuddle him close. “What’s the matter? What happened?”

“Jack! Hershey? Jack!”

“Daniel! I’ve got you. Come on, it’s just a dream, wake up!” 

“Jack?” The wide, unseeing eyes snap into focus and he swings his head around wildly until he gaze falls on Hershey and he drops his head back against my chest.

“You awake now?”

He’s breathing like he’s just run a marathon and the heart under my hand is racing equally fast. 

“Not a dream?” Both small hands clutch at my face as his head smacks my chin.

“Oww. No, I’m not a dream. It’s me, Daniel.”

“I wouldn’t need the rock if I was big. He knows what to do.”

“Who? Who knows what to do? About what?”

“Daniel.”

“About what, Sport? Daniel knows what to do about what?” 

“Daniel could have done it.”

“Done what?”

“Major Warren. He would have . . . fixed him . . .” He blinks at me as though only just recognizing who I am. 

“Fixed Warren?” Color me clueless. “Are you talking about the adult you? How could he have fixed Major Warren?”

Between one heartbeat and the next he’s sobbing. “I couldn’t . . . it didn’t work. I tried, but it didn’t work.”

“What didn’t work?” Patience has never been a virtue I possess in vast quantities and this last two weeks has really gotten under my skin. I know my voice is shading to irritated, and I make an effort to infuse calm into it when I try again. “What didn’t work, Sport?”

Here it is again. I can see the fuzzy outlines of the answer but I can’t make them come into focus.

“Nothing,” he hitches, shaking his head as he buries his face in my neck. “I want to go home. Can we go now?” 

“Doc Janet said it’s okay, so we’re going home.”

“Home? We’re going home?” He sighs. “Right now?” 

“Yes, right now.”

“Good. Can we stop by the market?”

“Why?”

“I just want to stop.” He presses a hand to his temple with an adult sigh. “My head hurts, Jack. Can we just go?”

“Daniel -”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Please, let’s go.” 

This is one of the nicer side effects of this downsizing; at least he can no longer walk out of the mountain without telling anyone where he’s going, leaving me frantically trying to trace his Family Circus path to make sure he’s all right.

“Fine, we’re going. How about you get down so I can get the rest of my stuff together and you can find yours?”

“I don’t want to get down and I don’t have anything to get.”

“You’re not taking any of the stuff home you brought this morning?”

“No. Let’s go.”

“I’m not making a trip back here tonight when you find out you’ve left something you have to have behind. It will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Daniel parrots. “You always tell me it won’t kill me if I forget something. And anyway, I’m not forgetting. I’m just not taking anything with me tonight.”

Unarguable logic. Until we hit bedtime tonight and he realizes he left behind a book he can’t live without.

“You’re sure?” I’ll be the first to admit I’m a sap when it comes to this incarnation of Daniel. But I am not coming back. 

“I’m sure. Aren’t you ready to go yet?

“This would be much easier and I’d be ready to go a lot faster if I could put you down.”

In answer he tucks himself up as small as possible and huddles against me.

I shift him around and finish stuffing things into the backpack one-handed before fishing for my card key. Daniel gets moved to the other hip because he’s covering the breast pocket I keep it in. 

“Hershey, grab Daniel’s backpack, please. Just in case he decides he needs it before morning.”

Obligingly, the dog noses the backpack until he can get a decent grip on it and follows me to the door. 

“Airman, you have the con.”

“Yes, sir. I have the con, sir.” The kid salutes with a grin.

“I want any unusual activity reported to security and General Hammond immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

Poor kid. He’s likely in for the most boring eight hours of his life. But I’m not taking any chances.

“I’m not sure how I’m going to get changed with you hanging on me like a little space monkey,” I tell Daniel as we head for the locker room.

“Don’t change.”

There’s always that option. Mr. and Mrs. H know I’m military and it’s not like we’re going anywhere else.

We reverse directions and head for the surface.

“It’s cold,” Daniel mumbles, burrowing under my fatigue shirt.

It’s maybe 50 degrees, though admittedly for Daniel, that’s cold, and I rearrange him so I can shield him from the breeze. “Better?” 

He grunts.

I put the kid in the car, and buckle him into his seatbelt while the dog does his circling the truck thing. A small hand grabs my wrist as I straighten.

“Promise me if I fall asleep again you’ll stop at the market and wake me up.”

Hershey jumps in and up on the back seat next to Daniel.

“Uh, that would be a no. If you’re asleep we’re going straight home and we can go back tomorrow.”

The look he gives me is less than pleasant and he sits up determinedly. 

“Hershey,” I hear him tell the dog, “you have to make sure I’m awake so we can make Jack stop,” as I close the door and head around the front of the truck.

He sits on the passenger side for two reasons – he digs his feet into the back of the seat for leverage when he wants to see out the window, and I can keep a better eye on him when he’s not directly behind me. 

As we don’t live that far from the base and the market isn’t that far from our house, it’s less than a ten minute drive, even going the speed limit. 

“I’m awake,” Daniel carols from the back seat as I pull up at the light before the corner where we have to turn to go to the store.

If I were a really good parent, I’d probably take him home and put him straight to bed, none of this giving in to these whims of fancy on his part. However, I never claimed to be a really good parent, and I make the turn into the street and then into the miniscule parking lot.

“You don’t have to come in, I just need to see Mamma H for a few minutes, it won’t take me long.”

“I thought . . .”

He’s out of his seatbelt and out of the truck before I get the engine switched off. The dog and the kid are through the open front doors like a bat out of Hades. 

“. . . you wanted something here.”

It’s been a few weeks, but we haven’t been back since Mrs. H gave me the soup. Not only do I need to thank her and tell her it worked miracles, we could use a few things, so I grab a market basket as I follow the con artists at a more leisurely pace.

Mr. H, with Hershey sitting patiently at his feet, is ringing me up as a chattering Mrs. H and Daniel burst through the curtains at the back of the store.

Mrs. H’s gnarled hands are fluttering wildly as a spate of Armenian streams from her. 

I can’t tell if she’s excited or agitated, but the old man grins at me and says in broken English, “Dis chil’, she loves . . .” he flutters his own hands indicating hugely, then pats his wife’s arm soothingly, nodding vigorously. “Yes, yes, yes. Good!” He beams on Daniel, who for the moment also looks very animated and Armenian pours out of him as well.

Mrs. H grabs him by the ears and plants a smacking kiss on each check in traditional European manner, then hugs him tight and flutters her hands though his hair, all the while jabbering madly. 

“You ready, Sport?”

“Yes,” he responds happily, throwing his arms around her ample middle. “I love you too, Mamma H. May you always be happy and healthy.” 

She bobs her head, nodding as though she understands, apple cheeks scrunched up in a grin that lights up her whole face. 

“ _Arvouhr_ ,” she says to me, patting Daniel’s shoulder. “He is much sweeting. _Arvouhr_.”

He shrugs, blushing as she continues to fuss over him. “She’s just saying I’m a sweetheart – I think – loosely translated anyway.”

“Well, come on, sweetheart, let’s get home.”

“Jaaack.” He rolls his eyes at me. “I want to carry something.”

“Here.” I hand over the bag of eggs. “Careful, or we’ll be eating toast for breakfast and nothing else.”

The Hagopian’s follow us out of the store to watch as we situate ourselves in the truck. They’re still standing arm-in-arm, as we pull into traffic, waving in my rear view mirror.

Daniel’s asleep before we turn back out onto the highway. 

The groceries wait while the dog and I head into the house to tuck the kid in. He’s cool as a cucumber as I bend over to kiss his forehead and he wakes enough to wrap his arms around my neck and pull me down. 

“I love you, Jack,” he murmurs before letting go.

Hershey, who I guarantee is thinking about his evening walk, hops up on the foot of the bed, circles a few times and plops down with a sigh. 

“I love you too, Sport.” I pull the covers up over his shoulder as he turns on his side and drop another kiss on his hair. 

“Tell me a story.”

“A story?”

“Tell me a story about when you were growing up.”

There are groceries in the truck, paperwork I brought home calling my name – loudly – and an easy chair in the living room sending out its own siren call.

What am I going to do for entertainment when he gets big again? I doubt he’ll let me drag him home and put him to bed so I can tell him stories.

“Slide over so I can sit down.”

Daniel scooches over accommodatingly.

“You want to hear a growing up story, huh?”

“Uhm hmm, but I want you to lie down and cuddle while you tell the story.”

“Daniel, that means I have to take my shoes off and I still have to go back out to the truck and get groceries and all the rest of the stuff we brought home. How about if I rub your back?”

“How about if you go get all the stuff and then come back and lie down with me.”

The internal debate lasts about two seconds. On a sigh, I push off the bed. “All right, but if you’re asleep when I come back, I’m not waking you up.”

I’m so relived we’re back to normal, I’d probably stand on my head if he asked me to. So yeah, I’ll hurry the groceries into the house and dump them on the counter so I’m back before he falls asleep. 

“I’m awake,” he announces, as I lean over to check on him ten minutes later.

“Okay.” I toe off my boots and lie down on the bed next to him. 

Daniel crawls out from under the covers, and huffs and puffs as he wriggles and squiggles until he’s situated himself so he’s pressed against me from knees to arm pit, with his head lying on my shoulder. Yeah, I kind of doubt adult Daniel is going to do this and I’m going to miss it.

Hershey, still at the foot of the bed, raises his head to watch these proceedings interestedly. By the time Daniel has made his nest and is comfortable, the dog has snuck up the bed so he’s lying pressed against the kid on the other side. He grins at me over Daniel’s shoulder and lays his head on the kid’s arm, cocking an ear as though ready for a story as well.

“We’re ready,” Daniel says, rubbing his cheek against my shirt. “Tell us about the mini state.”

“Mini state? You mean Minnesota?” 

They wait patiently, both pairs of eyes trained on me.

“A growing up story, hmmm. Okay, but let me think a minute.”

They’re both quiet, gazing up at me as if I’m some combination of Mark Twain and Garrison Keeler. And that reminds me of a story.

“When I was a little older than you are now –“

“How much older?”

“Oh, two or three years.”

”Nine or ten?”

“Yeah, around there. A bunch of us boys used to camp out on the weekends in the woods at the back of the old north forty. We’d set up camp as soon as our chores were done Friday afternoon, catch a couple fish in the pond we’d eat for supper . . .”

“You could do that –“ Daniel makes gutting motions with one fisted hand against his open palm, “you know, digging out things and cleaning the fish and all? Did you have to hit them with a rock to kill them?”

“Is there some reason you need the gory details?”

“Never mind. So you ate fish you caught and cooked over a fire?”

“Yep, over a fire. My –“

“You were allowed to have a fire in the woods?”

“I learned to respect fire after I burned myself so badly in the barbeque, and yes, we were allowed to have a fire in the woods, as long as we put it out before we went to sleep, or left the area.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Anyway, there were four of us –“ Huh, I hadn’t thought of that in a long time. “We were pretty inseparable growing up; our mom’s used to say they each had four sons. Where one was, you usually found the other three.”

“Four’s a good number,” Daniel grins. “Always someone to watch your six.”

“Yep, you’re right. Four’s a good number.”

“What were their names?”

As if it were 1967 again, the names roll off my tongue without a thought. “Tad, Dave, and Ronny.” It’s been years since they’ve crossed my mind. “So, anyway, this particular Saturday afternoon, we pooled our allowances and rode into town for supplies for the evening.” 

“What kind of supplies?”

“Oh, the usual, hot dogs and buns, a couple six packs of Pepsi, we were all in loooooove with Linda Ronstadt –“

“You were in love, Jack? Who’s Linda Ronstadt?”

“A singer, she was singing with the Stone Poneys that year. They did a commercial for Pepsi and Ronny’s Dad happened to work for Pepsi, so we got to see her live in concert. And, yes, I was madly in love. Anyway, where was I?”

“Riding your bikes into town for supplies.”

“Oh, yeah. So, we loaded our bike racks with boxes of Pepsi and hot dogs and marshmallows and Hershey bars – yes, Hershey, Daniel named you after a chocolate bar – and graham crackers –“

“Ummm, s’mores. But Hershey isn’t named for the chocolate bar, I named him Hershey ‘cause he liked Hershey kisses so much.”

“Yes, I remember. Same thing, just different shapes. And if you keep interrupting, my little marshmallow, I won’t have time to finish the story.” I poke him lightly in the belly and he curls around my hand, laughing. 

“So, you got your supplies and rode back to camp?”

“Yes, and we built a relatively large fire, which we weren’t supposed to do, but boys will be boys, and were taking turns making up fantasies about Linda Ronstadt –“

“Not Mary Steenburger, huh?”

“Mary Steenburgen – n, not er, Steenburgen - was only thirteen at the time, she didn’t cross my horizon until she was twenty-five when I saw her in Time After Time.”

“Do you still love Linda Ronstadt like you love Mary Steenburger?”

“Brat. Do you want me to finish the story or not?”

“Enquiring minds want to know, Jack?” he whines at me, scrunching up his face as he tries not to grin.

“Do enquiring minds want to know the rest of the story?”

Hershey woofs, which I assume means proceed, and Daniel puts an arm around the dog. “Large fire, fantasias?”

He knows Disney’s Fantasia, I doubt he’s much into fantasies yet.

“Yeah, so, we’re laying around the fire, stuffing ourselves on s’mores and hot dogs and guzzling down Pepsi when all of the sudden, the sky over the woods lights up like Main Street on the 4th of July.” 

“Like fireworks,” Daniel asks?

“No, just very bright, and just the patch of sky over the woods. We thought at first it was a helicopter with search lights, but there wasn’t any sound like chopper blades, though the tops of the trees were blowing as if in a huge wind. And then it started to move, so we all got up and ran after it, to see if the light made it all the way to the ground. When it came to a standstill again, we tried to measure the space on the ground the light covered by counting steps, but trees kept getting in the way and we’d have to go around, or the light would move again before we got all the way across the circle. It appeared to make a circle, but on the ground, there was really no way to tell. It hovered over the woods for about twenty minutes, and then a beam of even brighter light shot down, like a laser tag, only a bright turquoise instead of red. We watched that beam make a criss cross path through the trees until it started coming our way and then we hauled ass back to the camp and threw ourselves in the tent, pulled down all the side flaps, closed the flaps on the front, zipped the front door and huddled inside our sleeping bags until the wind died down another twenty minutes or so later. Tad was all for getting on our bikes and going home, but none of the rest of us wanted to leave the tent and Tad wouldn’t go alone, so we inched our sleeping bags together in the middle of the tent and eventually slept like a pile of puppies.”

“What was it?” Daniel, eyes wide in the dim glow of the night light, pulls back to look up at me.

“When we told our folks about it the next day - we broke camp and went home early the next morning - they all claimed they hadn’t seen or heard a thing and told us we shouldn’t be making up tall tales. At ten, we were positive it had been a spaceship, though we never did decide what it was they were looking for. By sixteen, even though we still talked about it occasionally among the four of us, we figured it must have been some kind of experimental aircraft. What better place to test something like that then the wilds of Minnesota.”

“But?” the kid prompts, scoring a chuckle from me.

“Why do you think there’s a but?

“Ummm,” Daniel taps a fingernail against his teeth. “Now that you work for Stargate Command, you think it might have been that Asgard we met up with last year?”

“You remember that?”

“Lucky? Lukie?”

“Loki.”

“Now I remember, the Norse god of mischief!” Daniel pulls back again. “And there’s a little you!” he exclaims, then frowns. “But you’re big too. There were two of you? At the same time?”

“He was a clone, remember?”

The downy eyebrows draw together in a frown. “We found him fishing, me and Sam and Teal’c. You were gone. Loki got in trouble for trying to mess with you. Thor punished him.”

“Mmmmhmmm. See, rules again. Even the Asgard have ‘em.”

“Thor made Loki fix the little you, too, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think we could ask Thor to clone me? So when I get big again, you can still have me?” 

Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. Thor owes me; he’d do it too, no questions asked. No ethical problems on their end, since it’s how their race survives.

“I don’t know if I could handle a big and a little Daniel at the same time.”

“How ‘bout two me’s at the same time?”

“Definitely not. Now, close your eyes my little Asgard wannabe, and go to sleep.”

“I’m not really sleepy, just tired. Hershey wants to go for a walk, will you take him?”

“And leave you here alone? I don’t think so. I will let him out though.”

“Teal’c would come and take him for a walk.”

“I’m sure he would, but tonight Hershey’s going to have to settle for going out in the yard. I’ll let him stay out for awhile. I have things I have to go do, Sport. You want a book or something before I go?”

“Don’t go.”

“Daniel, I have a lot of work I still need to get through. I can’t stay here very long.” 

“Just until I fall asleep.”

This is another one of the things I’ll miss when he’s big again, the ability to figure out what it is he needs from us without having to drag it out of him piece by piece. 

It’s taken this Fountain of Youth experience to make me understand how little Daniel, in either incarnation, asks of us. 

So, no matter how loudly that stack of papers is calling my name, tonight it will wait until my Littlest Ancient is fast asleep, hopefully wandering among sweet dreams.

“Slide down a little,” I tell him, pulling the covers up over both he and the dog.

He wriggles down so his head is on the pillow. I lean back against the wall, cup the small blonde head in one hand, and begin to rub a thumb over his temple, occasionally smoothing my whole hand through his hair. 

“Jack?” he asks sleepily.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think it was Loki? Or maybe some other Asgard ship you saw that night in the woods?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Next time I catch up with Thor, remind me to ask him if he was cruising the backwoods of Minnesota in August of 1967.”

“’kay. That was a good story.”

I chuckle again. “It will be even better if I do figure out it was the Asgards. Go to sleep, kiddo. I love you.”

“Love you too,” he mumbles, already more asleep than awake. 

It isn’t very long before he’s out like a light, but I stay another half hour, just sitting with him, watching him sleep. 

He’s more relaxed tonight then I’ve seen him in several weeks; actually since before we left on the Rezula mission. 

I’ve been trying, since he shared the ‘my skin feels too small to hold me’ bit, to think this through. We have no idea when or how any resizing will happen, but I’m beginning to think he may be more in control of it than he realizes. And, I think, when it does happen, it will happen far too quickly for any of us to do anything more than react. So I want a plan in place ahead of time. 

I’m sure Fraiser will want us on base for the initial phase at least. I need to talk to her about a space we can set aside to accommodate this. A place we can have set up ahead of time. A space that will house all of us comfortably, but still give Daniel some privacy if he needs or wants it. I need to talk to Hammond about being able to drop everything and come home if we’re off-world, about time off afterwards, about space to decompress, for all of us. I understand we don’t have a lot of choice, much of this we’ll have to play by ear, but anything I can put in place now to make this less harrowing, less traumatic will be one less hurdle we have to jump when the time comes. 

When I do finally get up to go finish the work I brought home, I’ve got the outline of plan to put in place. Over the next few days I’ll bring Carter and Teal’c up to speed on what I’m thinking and get their input as well. As the doc pointed out back during our appendicitis crisis, their insights into this incarnation of Daniel should be taken into consideration too.

While I know we’ll handle anything thrown at us, it’s a relief to realize we can plan for some of this at least.

I’m deep in the middle of supply requisitions when the house phone rings. I check the caller ID and punch the button to answer it, wondering why in the world the Hagopian’s would be calling me at home and how the hell they got this number, particularly since it’s unlisted.

“Hello?”

“Colonel O’Neill? You won’t know who I am, but you know my parents. Please, I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a son named Daniel?”

“Parents? The Hagopian’s are your parents?”

“Yes, yes, the owners of the little market at the corner of –”

“Uh, yeah, Broadmore and 6th.” I check my pockets for my wallet, and then my wallet for my credit card and driver’s license.

Nothing missing.

“Right, right. Then I have reached the correct Jonathan O’Neill? You have a son named Daniel?”

“Why? And how the hell did you get this number?” I pull the phone away from my ear to frown at it.

Dead silence for the space of six seconds and then a low murmur of Armenian, followed by a spate of chattering in the background.

“Uhm . . . my mother wants to talk to you.” 

He doesn’t answer the how part and there’s another six seconds of dead air.

“Mrs. H? Did we leave something this afternoon?”

“She wants me to translate for her, sir.”

My mind is furiously clicking back through the ten minutes we spent in the store this afternoon. Did Daniel leave his backpack? Did Hershey leave a deposit of some kind?

A breathless voice in my ear begins with, “’l-o? Col-o-nel?” followed by a spate of rapid fire Armenian of which I understand nothing but the name Daniel interspersed throughout the monologue, ending with, “ya?”

“My mother says you have a very special little boy, Colonel. And that she is very grateful for the gift he gave her this afternoon. She’s telling you that as long as they own this store, your purchases here will be . . .” there’s a slight pause and then the young male voice says, “on the house. I believe that is the American term.”

Another twenty seconds of Armenian. “She says to give Daniel kisses from her and she can’t wait to see him again. That’s it, sir. She says goodbye.”

”Wait!”

“Sir?”

“I need a little explanation here. I have no idea what she’s talking about or what in the world Daniel could have done to earn us free groceries.”

Another moment of silence. “Oh. He did not tell you?”

At the risk of repeating myself, I hate twenty questions.

“Tell me what?”

“That he restored my mother’s hands?”

“What?”

“He gave her back her hands. Restored, yes?”

“Restored?” A close-up of Mrs. H’s gnarled and curled fingers freeze frames in my mind’s eye. 

Restored.

_Laughter really is good medicine and, I swear, one or two of my patients have walked out of the infirmary after one of their shows._

Restored.

Shit. 

“Restored,” the young man on the other end of the phone states emphatically. “She has suffered from rheumatoid arthritis since she was a young girl. She says she is free from pain for the first time in nearly sixty years.”

“Restored,” I murmur, closing my eyes as another piece of the puzzle shifts into focus. The rock, the damn rock is the last piece. But he didn’t have the rock, so how did he do this?

“My mother made homemade _kataifi_ tonight for the first time in more years than even my father can remember. She is repeating how grateful she is for this gift, sir. And wants me to tell you again, everything is on the house, and she adds, don’t be shy about taking them up on their offer. They have spent the afternoon trying to think of something appropriate to give you in return for this gift. They are humbled that you would allow your child to do this for what amounts to strangers, sir.”

“Tell them . . .” What? That Daniel knows no strangers? That we’re going to have to stop going into their store? That if they don’t promise to keep this a secret I’ll have to shoot them in the name of international security? “Could you put your dad on, and then translate for me, please?”

“Of course, sir.”

“’el-lo? Col-o-nel?” Followed by another explosion of Armenian. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re welcome, Mr. H.” I wait through some more heartfelt gratitude and interrupt when the son starts again. “I got it, okay. I need you all to understand something. You cannot tell anyone about this. No one, do you understand me?”

“But, surely –“

“No one,” I repeat harshly, hating the sound of my own voice. “Not one word, to anyone.”

“No explanation?”

“I’m sorry, your folks are great people and I’m happy for them. Make up something, but don’t involve Daniel. He’s just a kid and I don’t want the press hounding him, or the notoriety that comes with this kind of . . .”

Miracle. I want to say miracle. It’s no miracle, but I can’t give them any other frame of reference.

“You can’t tell anybody. I’m sorry.” The special ops Colonel rises seamlessly to the surface. “I’ve made myself clear? You do understand what I’m telling you?”  
Oh, for cryin’ out loud, I’m reduced to threatening a humble grocer and his wife. 

“I believe so, Colonel. I will relay your message. Goodnight, sir.” The tone is bleak and full of injured hurt, but there’s also acceptance, for which I’m very thankful.

The dial tone blares in my ear before the phone drops from my nerveless fingers to the top of the desk as I bury my face in my hands. 

I’d rather have had water from the rock.

* * *

“I don’t see a power source, Barnes. Can we get to the point? It was gone? It’s depleted? There never was a power source? How about you fill in the blank?” We were late getting here this morning and they were paging me to this debrief as we were signing in. Daniel and Hershey went straight to the infirmary for their morning show and for some reason – call it intuition, premonition, call it whatever you want – I have an urgent need to be down there.

“No, sir.” Barnes looks directly at the General rather then replying to me. “There is a power source, it is not depleted, but you said not to make an attempt unless we were sure we could succeed. We hung around for 24 hours, sir, thinking maybe we could do a snatch and grab. But it was heavily guarded. Sorry to say, sir, I think the intel was bad.”

“Surprise, surprise. After all, it came from -”

The sound of running footsteps on the metal staircase has me pushing back from the table even before Harriman’s head is visible at floor level. 

“Colonel O’Neill,” he gasps, “You’re needed in the infirmary immediately: Daniel collapsed during their show.”

“Go, Jack,” Hammond says to my departing back.

As if.

I don’t have eight floors of knees left, I have no choice but to wait for the elevator, which takes ninety-three seconds to get here, though admittedly it only takes fifteen seconds to woosh me up seven floors. 

Got to do something about that response time though; what if we were under attack?

I’m barely through the doors when I’m nearly bowled over by Hershey, who plants his paws on my waist and woofs anxiously. 

“Yeah, I know buddy.” I rub his ears.

Hershey barks again, a short, sharp staccato, and drops back on all fours. He turns and trots off a few feet, looks at me over his shoulder, and when I don’t immediately follow, barks again. 

He leads me out the back of the infirmary to one of the ISO rooms where a whole bunch of people are doing who knows what to my kid.

“What the hell happened?”

“Keep out of the way, Colonel.”

That is so not a good tone of voice. We fade back into a corner, and I hunker down, pulling the softly whimpering dog between my knees. While I know he understands every word I say, I haven’t yet managed Daniel’s skill at being able to translate BMD – Bernese Mountain Dog. I’m fluent enough to know the dog is really worried, which translates in OCL -Old Colonel language - to terrified. 

Hershey takes an anxious swipe at my face, whether in sympathy or looking for reassurance, I don’t understand, but I don’t wipe it off, and he lays his muzzle over my knee, looking up at me out of the corner of his eye like he doesn’t quite understand why I’m not doing something to make this better. 

“I wish I could,” I whisper, fondling his ears. “I wish I could.”

It’s a long thirty-seven minutes of barked orders and breathless suspense before the pace of the frantic, controlled chaos eases and the crowd around the bed begins to disperse. I’ve checked my watch thirty-seven times.

Fraiser, rattling off still more orders to the last nurse in the room, finally turns toward us, tucking her stethoscope into a pocket. “We have him stabilized, sir. But I recommend we transport to the base hospital as soon as possible.”

“No – and wait!” I hold up a hand when she starts to protest. “Please! I’ve been thinking about this. If it is in some way connected to that rock or the totem, there’s not a damn thing they can do for him over there. In fact, moving him could be the equivalent of signing his death warrant. And if this is some kind of alien bug, or technology we’ve yet to discover, then moving him to the base hospital will only hamper your ability to treat him effectively. And I don’t imagine the President and Joint Chiefs would take too kindly to the Tok’ra dropping by, or the Asgard beaming in.”

“Sir.” Fraiser clenches her jaw. “Everything we’ve done has been ineffective. You need to understand keeping him here could be equally risky.”

“Hammond will authorize whoever we need. Bring in the experts, bring in the best pediatricians the military has; but bring them here. I’ll fill out paperwork for the next thousand years to get them clearance, Janet. Just bring them here.”

She eyes me for a moment longer, than closes her eyes on a sigh. “I’ll speak to the General 

“We’ve already discussed this. He said to do what I need to do. I’m doing it. What the hell happened? What’s wrong this time?”

“As for what happened, Daniel didn’t get up when he and Hershey did their play dead routine. You know how realistic he can make that faint look, sir, but almost the instant Daniel went down, Hershey started barking. It took a few seconds to realize the dog was trying to make us understand something was wrong.” Fraiser rubs her forehead wearily. “We were able to restart his heart without electrical stimulation, but without any understanding of the cause of this, I’m at loss to keep it from happening again. And I still can’t tell you what’s wrong.”

“It has to have something to do with the rock.”

“Colonel, Sam and I both tested and analyzed that rock. Sam even brewed up the tincture Teal’c told you about. There was nothing harmful to us in that either.”

“That was my next thought. Daniel ingested some of that stuff, licking it off Teal’c’s finger.”

“I can only repeat there was nothing physically injurious about the rock itself. If it is the rock, then it has some esoteric hold on him.”

“Some kind of alien voodoo, like the totem? You don’t think –“ I close my eyes. “If by some chance . . .” I can’t do this. 

“Sir? I think you better spit it out, whatever it is. Especially if it’s pertinent to this situation.”

“What if . . . what if the Rezulin spirits . . . moved into him?”

Eyes wide, she stares at me, that brain of hers clicking away. “Could we even tell physically? I’ll have to do some research.” On a sigh, Fraiser shakes her head. “Though I would think if it was some kind of – spell – it would have been broken when it was destroyed. I suppose ruling out anything at this point would be foolish. But there are any number of variables here we haven’t considered. What if it’s something one of the other teams brought back and we just haven’t isolated it yet. Maybe whatever it is only affected Daniel because he’s small. What if it’s a side-effect of the Telchak Fountain of Youth technology that’s just now manifesting? I don’t . . .”

“Jack?” His voice is little more than a whisper above the sound of the machines measuring his life force and the oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth.

“I’m right here, Sport.” I palm his head and massage his temple. “How ya feeling?” 

“Hershey?”

“Hey, sweetie,” Fraiser interrupts, pulling out her trusty pen light. “Can you answer a few questions for me?” 

Daniel barely flinches when she flashes it in first one eye, then the other. 

“Hershey?”

The dog stirs at my feet, but subsides when I use Daniel’s hand motion for down. 

“I know he’s under the bed, Colonel. You may as well let him up. And then he’s going to Daniel’s office.”

In a single bound the dog is on the bed, nuzzling the kid, licking his face, nosing at him worriedly.

“What happened?” Daniel shoves irritably at the oxygen mask. “I don’t need this.”

I snatch up the hand that flops back down on top of the blanket as nausea crawls up the back of my throat. The small fingers are misshapen and awkwardly bent, the knuckles swollen and inflamed. 

Oh god. What has he done? What have I let him do? 

Fraiser whips the blanket down to extract his other hand. It matches the right hand I’m holding, fingers crooked, knuckles a third larger than they should be. 

With a calm I can only admire, she squeezes his hand lightly. “Yes, you do, Sport. Your oxygen saturation is low; that means if you don’t leave it on, your heart will have to work harder to oxygenate your blood and since your heart just stopped beating, I think it would a very good idea if you left it on.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I know you don’t, but I have to insist. Do you remember what day it is?”

“Tuesday.”

“Can you tell me when your birthday is?”

“July 8. Lie down, Hershey. How long until we can go home?” he sighs wearily.

“First we have to figure out what’s wrong.”

“This wouldn’t be happening—” his breath hitches, “if I had the rock.”

“We’ll get a rock, Sport.” I’ll strain the ash in the incinerator if I have to.

Daniel rolls his head fretfully. “I need . . . _my_ rock.” His eyes roll back in his head and his chin meets his shoulder.

Fraiser whips out her stethoscope as her fingers aim for the carotid artery. “Daniel? Get down, Hershey!”

None of the machines are red lining, but more taut moments pass before her posture eases and she looks across the bed at me. 

“Just unconscious.”

As if unconscious is okay. Which, given what just occurred, I suppose it’s at the bottom of the _ten things I’d rather not deal with right now_ list. At least his heart’s still beating. 

“If it is the rock, sir, it’s imperative we do something about it quickly. You have some explanation for this?” She lifts the hand she’s still holding. 

“We stopped to visit the grocer and his wife near our place, yesterday –“ The nausea nearly gags me as I fight to get the words out.

“Colonel?“ 

I put up a finger and shake my head, breathing through it until I have it under control again. “I’ve known them for ten years now. The wife had rheumatoid arthritis – until yesterday afternoon.”

She’s quick. “That’s not possible, sir.” 

Bloody hell. Of course it’s not possible! For any normal human being; but we’re not talking about any normal human being, we’re talking about Doctor Daniel Jackson. 

“What about that woman we pulled out of the ice in Antarctica?” 

Fraiser’s lips purse as though she’s been sucking persimmons. “No,” she denies, one hand going protectively to Daniel’s blanket-covered chest. “No.”

I just look at her. 

“He’s too little. He hasn’t manifested that kind of – power – before.”

“Oma Desala told me specifically he has more control over his ascended powers in this incarnation than he did as an adult.”

“No, Colonel, it can’t be. He wouldn’t know how . . . he’s just a kid . . .”

“No, he’s not, Doc.” More of the puzzle pieces are shifting into focus. “You mentioned, yesterday, he’d been down here visiting Warren.”

“That was hours before . . .” Fraiser trails off. 

Why can’t he just be a normal kid this time around? What’s wrong with chicken pox and measles? 

“Daniel woke up chattering about Warren and big Daniel being able to help him. It made no sense at the time, but if he was down here trying to *fix* Warren and couldn’t?”

“You think that’s why he refused to come back down here,” Fraiser states. 

“Does he have any of Warren’s symptoms?”

“No, but Ayiana wasn’t really healing us, she was taking our sickness into herself. Colonel Warren wasn’t sick, sir, he was injured.”

“So he couldn’t *fix”, Steve, because it wasn’t an illness?”

“I don’t know. We were unable to do any further genetic testing for fear Ayiana herself was the carrier of the illness we all succumbed to. We had to have her body cremated. There was too much risk.”

“If this . . .” the small, gnarled fingers don’t automatically curl around my index finger like Daniel usually does when I touch his hands when he’s asleep. I have to clear my throat and start again. “If this is indicative of more serious internal issues we need to know. Just how much of her disease did he take on?”

“I’ll get set up for a CT scan immediately.”

“Would you have someone page Carter and Teal’c down here, please.”

“Of course.”

It’s less than five minutes before the door slides open.

“What happened?” Carter starts spewing questions before the door closes behind them. “Is he okay? Where’s Hershey? We passed Janet in the hallway, she said you’d asked her to page us. Did something happen during the show? 

“What is the status of Daniel Jackson, O’Neill?” Teal’c knocks on the window to the observation deck where an SF is posted and points authoritatively to the desk chair and then the room.

Good idea. 

“We still don’t know why he collapsed, but I think we’ve figured out some of what’s going on here.”

Show and tell is no easier this time around.

“Do you still believe the rock to be the cause of this O’Neill?”

“I still believe the rock had a pivotal role in this drama; but whether it’s detrimental or therapeutic, as Daniel believes, I don’t know.”

“I will return to Rezula and try to obtain a replacement.”

“The rock Carter gave him didn’t work, Teal’c. And Daniel keeps saying he needs _his_ rock. Hammond says he ordered Siler to destroy it. It went into the incinerator.”

“Incinerator,” Carter repeats blankly. 

“I will go immediately,” Teal’c states calmly, as though the act of going might endow another rock with whatever it is Daniel needs. 

“I’ll get a crew started on sifting through the incinerator ash.”

“1200 degrees, Carter? Aren’t we grasping at straws?”

“If it’s _that_ rock, sir?”

“Right.”

Hershey whines softly and I let him back up on the bed as I pull up the chair the SF delivered.

* * *

No rock.

Both Carter and Teal’c were unsuccessful. 

Well, Teal’c brought back a sack full of rocks, just none of them worked. They’re still sifting through debris from the incinerator, but Carter immediately took some of the rock T found and subjected it to temperatures commensurate with the incinerator.

It turned to ash. 

I had to order them out of the room, but my pissed off teammates have gone to eat, shower, and walk the dog before they come back. 

Basically we’ve accomplished nothing in the last twenty-four hours; with the exception of confirming that Daniel has all the indicators of severe rheumatoid arthritis. Even I could tell from the scan, every joint is inflamed. 

Like Ayiana, his condition has rapidly deteriorated. I’m guessing he drained a lot of life force trying to fix Warren and then expended most of the rest fixing Mrs. H. 

I’m physically ill every time I look at him, remembering the empty bandages and the flat bedclothes last time he went glowy on me. 

I know I’m battling more than my own demons in my struggle to keep him here. 

“Daniel, don’t do this to me.”

“Jack?”

“Where the hell have you been?” I snarl, knowing full well if I turn my head it will be my imagination conjuring the voice I so need to hear. I do it anyway, on the off chance I’m not hallucinating. 

Adult Daniel coalesces, forming like a hologram that solidifies. He’s dressed in khaki’s and a plaid shirt over a t-shirt.

“Jack?” he says again, dropping easily to balance on his toes. He clasps his hands between his knees and tilts his head, watching me watch him. 

I want to touch him, beg him to stay this time, but my fingers go right through him when I reach out. He closes his eyes and I realize there are tears sliding down my face.

“You need to find the rock.”

“The rock?” I repeat dully. Surely he knows the rock is history. 

“The rock Teal’c brought back from P8X-XYZ,” he snaps, using little Daniel’s planet designations. “Jack, you have to find the rock.”

“It went in the incinerator, they’re still sifting through the ash, but they’re not going to find it. Carter experimented on the stuff Teal’c brought back. The rock is history. And this is the part I haven’t been able to figure out. He was using that rock somehow, but he didn’t need it for the actual healing, because the rock was gone before he fixed Mrs. H’s hands.”

“No,” Daniel says, rising. “He’s not healing, he’s taking the sickness into himself, and yes, it’s the same principal Ayiana was using, but unlike her, he found something to put it into - the rock - until you took it away from him. He didn’t understand what he was doing; he just knew holding the rock made him feel better.” He touches our twined hands. 

I don’t feel a thing, except a quickening in little Daniel. 

“Jack, you have to find that rock and you have to do it quickly. He can’t hold on much longer.”

“Where have you been? Why did you let us throw away the damn rock in the first place?” I want to snarl again, but I’m too drained to even get an edge in my voice. I just sound pathetic.

The hologram shimmers, possibly with annoyance, it’s sometimes hard to tell when adult Daniel is pissed. 

“It’s not like we sit around inside his head and chat, Jack.”

Well, that answers that. Pissed for sure.

“I’m merely a manifestation of his subconscious. I don’t know why he didn’t try this before. Would you have listened to me any more than you did him? He kept telling you he needed the rock.”

“Dammit, Daniel! You never think anything is going to hurt you! Why is it you never outgrew your teenage Superman phase? Why do you think you’re invincible?”

“I never thought I was invincible,” he says bleakly. “It just never occurred to me someone might care if something happened to me.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. “That was a long time ago.”

“Old habits die hard.”

“And it’s not true for this incarnation at all.”

“Yes, but old, ingrained habits die even harder.” He meets my gaze, flinching a shoulder unconsciously. 

Oh, yes, old habits die very hard. “What about Oma?” I sigh, raising a hand to massage the kinks in my neck. “Will she help him?”

“I don’t want to ascend again,” he says flatly. “And you can bet she’d love to get her hands on this incarnation of me. She thinks I’d be more compliant at this age then closing in on forty.”

I snort. It’s a conditioned response; I have no control over it. She’s right, he is a lot more malleable at this age, but I’ll let her have him versus the alternative. There’s always a chance he’ll get himself kicked out again, even at seven, especially if he has this Daniel hanging over his shoulder coaching him.

“You’d rather die?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “I’d rather you found the rock.”

“General-Hammond-had-Siler-throw-it-in-the-trash,” I repeat, with staccato emphasis, “it went to the incinerator.”

“I don’t think so, but even if it did, I don’t think it would have burnt up.”

“What is it about that rock?”

“I’m not sure. All I can tell you is he recognized something in it when he was able to suck out Sam’s exhaustion on the way to the briefing.”

“Carter? On the way to the briefing? So he wasn’t doing this before he had the rock?”

“No, the rock was definitely the catalyst.”

“I thought it was just a case of heat exhaustion.”

“Oh, I think it was probably heat induced in you and Sam. He was experimenting on the two of you.” 

Adult Daniel ripples again. The shirt that was too big on him all those years ago stretches taut across the shoulders as he crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Find the rock, Jack. He keeps asking for it because he can still feel it. It must be here somewhere.” He’s a bit more blurry by the time he says, “Tell Teal’c it’s not his fault.” 

“Tell him yourself. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m barely out of a flamingo pink cast because I was withholding information.”

Daniel smirks. “Look, I’ve got to go. Every minute I stay is an hour this Daniel won’t last. I’m sorry I can’t help more.”

And he’s gone. No pop, no poof, no glowy lights, thank God; just gone, as if he was a figment of my imagination. Except I can still hear him. 

_“You’re wasting time, Jack. Find that rock.”_

I reach for the radio lying next to little Daniel’s pillow. Last time he moved, he asked me to help him roll over on his stomach. He was too weak to do it on his own. The finger’s in his mouth, but he isn’t sucking or chewing. I haven’t had the heart to take it out. 

“Teal’c? Got your ears on?”

“I do,” T growls and I can hear the anger and frustration in those two words, or maybe I just feel the vibrations clear up here in the infirmary. “What do you require, O’Neill?”

“Adult Daniel says the rock is on base.”

There is a moment of dead silence, then the radio crackles with static. “On base?” 

“Has anybody asked Siler about the rock?”

A second radio crackles. “Siler is on vacation,” Carter answers. 

“Is he off-world?”

“I doubt it, sir.”

“Then presumably, if he’s on Earth, we can make contact with him. If anybody knows where he’s gone it will be Harriman.”

“Sir, we’re grasping at straws, if the General ordered him to destroy the rock, Siler would have done just that.”

“The rock is on base, Daniel said so. Search Siler’s desk, search his tool box, search the mechanical rooms. Search every damn room on this base if you have to, just find it.” I click off the radio with every intention of hurling it against the wall so it shatters into a million pieces, except I don’t have the energy.

All I can do is wait. If they find it . . . when they find . . . when they find it, we’ll be here, waiting.

This time I’m not letting him go lying alone in some impersonal hospital bed. As I lean over to yank at the laces on my boots an airman opens the door and lets Hershey into the room. 

“I’ll be right outside, sir, if you need someone to take him out again.”

“Thanks.”

He tips a salute and closes the door. 

Hershey worriedly nudges at my shoulder. He was pretty pissed that I made him leave too. 

“Yeah, bud, just a minute and I’ll let you up, okay?” 

I toe off my boots, slide onto the bed and snug the small, blanket-covered body up against me. Hershey’s head pops up over the side and I pat the bed in invitation. 

“Come on,” I tell him. 

A single bound, a soft swish, and Hershey’s stretched out nose to plumy tail, pressed up against Daniel like a furry hot water bottle.

Janet will probably be pissed. Too bad.

“Hold on, buddy, hold on. We’ll find it, I promise.”

Lying here with him, holding him like this, for some reason I’m reminded of the island and our afternoon jaunt with the dog lady. 

_“This one belongs to you; your destiny is linked. Do you understand you are building a bridge for him?”_

A bridge? 

_“Build it solidly; he may need to cross over it many times before his journey is over.”_

Is this one of those times? Does he have to cross over before we get him back? 

The rise and fall of his chest is slowing, the time between breaths is stretching longer and longer. He feels fragile in the circle of my arms; as if every bone in his body would snap if I squeezed even a little. 

What kind of bridge?

I close my eyes and rest my chin on the top of his head. I’m an action kind of guy, normally I leave the mental gymnastics to Daniel and Carter, but if push comes to shove, I can occasionally pull a rabbit out of the hat.

If it’s a bridge he needs, I’ll build a damn bridge. Hell, I’ll build him the London bridge if he wants, just so long as he uses it to come back home.

It occurs to me, as I’m mentally building this bridge, that Daniel isn’t too fond of heights, so in the end my bridge looks more like the foot bridges we’ve seen a lot of lately on our geocaching travels. You know, like the pastoral wooden bridges used to cross the streams and eddies tucked away in our neighborhood parks.

My bridge may be rustic, but it’s user friendly and solid and as I look up from hammering in the last mental nail, lo and behold, there’s my kid standing on the other side watching me. With the dog sitting beside him.

A part of my brain wants to reach out and make sure the dog is still lying in the bed with us, to open my eyes and see the child I can feel lying against my chest; and then the dog in the dream wags his tail and I feel Hershey’s tail thump against my leg in reality.

“Hey, Sport. Ready to go home?” 

I know he’ll recognize the bridge. Someone in our area has a series of _Wormhole Xtreme_ caches; we found one a few weeks ago, in a little niche under this very bridge.

Fifteen feet upstream a tumble of rocks pushes the water up almost like a geyser and then spills it over in a cascade of spray that mists over the bridge. It’s probably nice during the summer when it’s hot. It was quite cool the day we were there and we avoided getting any wetter than we had to in order to get the cache. 

On the opposite side of the bridge, Daniel shifts his feet and lifts his hand slowly, spreading his fingers – as if in farewell.

“Daniel! Don’t! Don’t go! Teal’c and Carter are going to find the rock. Don’t go! I’ll come and get you, just don’t go.”

“You can’t, Jack. You won’t get here in time. But Hershey’s going with me and I’ll be all right where we’re going.”

“No! Daniel!” 

It’s as if my feet are mired in the mud on this side of the bridge. Every time I lift one out, the other sinks deeper. I grab the bridge railing I’ve just nailed in place and drag one foot, minus my boot, out of what feels like quicksand.

“Hang on, just hang on. I’ll get to you.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. The dog lady is waiting for me, Jack.”

“Dammit, Hershey! Don’t let him go! We had a deal, we shook on it! Don’t you dare let him go.”

The dog woofs forlornly.

“Daniel! Wait! At least wait until I get over there and can talk to you without shouting. Wait for me, I’ll go with you.”

“You can’t, Jack,” he says again. “You can’t go with me this time.”

“You would have taken me with you when we were in Baal’s prison. Why can’t I go with you now?”

He shakes his head sadly. “You’re just trying to hold me here; you don’t really want to go now, either. That’s okay, I understand. It’s okay, really, Jack.”

“Do you want to go this time?”

He hesitates and one small, booted foot slides onto the bridge. He’s in the same clothes adult Daniel was wearing, except in miniature. A tiny plaid shirt over a black t-shirt, khaki’s and desert boots. The outfit looks familiar because it’s the clothes I loaned him the day after we brought him back from Abydos; the day he demanded General Hammond let him be on my team.

So much troubled water under the bridge since that day – seems like a hundred years ago now.

“Come on, Sport, I know you don’t want to go with the dog lady, your adult self told me so just a few minutes ago. Wait for me, I’m coming. Carter and Teal’c are coming too, and the doc and General Hammond. We’re even trying to track down Siler. I’ll get Walter too. Just wait for us, buddy. Hold on a little bit longer and we’ll find a way to get to you. Can you do that?”

I’ve got both feet on the bridge, minus boots, I’m caked with mud up to my knees and suddenly there’s a flood pouring over the damn thing, impeding my progress, but I’m determined. Nothing will keep me from reaching my kid. 

Twice, the rising, rushing water rips my feet out from under me, but the wooden bridge has knobby knots for hand holds and even without my feet on the ground, I can still drag myself across. 

“Don’t, Jack! You’ll drown! Go back! Go back!

This is only in my mind, but I built this bridge and I will not let it defeat me, I will not let it turn into my enemy. 

And it comes to me - the longer I’m struggling to get to him, the longer I can keep him here. The enemy of my enemy is my friend – as long as he thinks I’m in danger, he’ll do everything in his power to stay. I’m counting on the fact that Oma Desala will not take him against his will.

On cue, she appears next to the dog and the kid, frowning at me.

“I did not expect you to take me so literally,” she says, holding out a hand. “Come, Daniel, Hershey. It’s time to go, the water will disappear as soon as you’re gone and O’Neill will be safe.”

“Don’t go with her, Daniel! Don’t take that path because you think it will save me!”

He slides his foot back off the bridge and the water recedes briefly, so I get my feet back under me again and am able to surge forward several spans of railing.

“Daniel!” I lunge as I feel the water building for another assault and my fingers close around his outstretched hand. “Hang on and don’t let go!”

Both of us are sucked into the vortex of raging water. Disoriented, unable to tell up from down, my hand smacks the bridge railing and I latch on. With Daniel, I can’t pull us hand over hand, and, reality or not, I know without a doubt, we’re both going to drown in this maelstrom if I can’t get us to the right side of the bridge.

My own lungs are burning from lack of oxygen and Daniel’s chest heaves as his oxygen-starved brain forces him to gasp. 

I hear the words as clearly as if we were lying in his bed playing our nightly game.

“I love you bestest of all.”

“O’NEILL!”

I surge up off the bed, bringing Daniel with me, both of us gasping for air, as the dog jumps up barking madly. 

Teal’c’s massive hands are clamped around my wrists. Carter has one of Daniel’s hands wrapped up inside both of her own and in my peripheral vision the room is crowded with people.

“O’Neill?” Teal’c gentles both his voice and his grip on my wrists, though his strength is the only thing holding us up. 

Someone shoves pillows behind me and T eases us back against them, careful to keep Daniel tucked up inside my arm. My hands lie where he places them; not a muscle will respond to the urgent, disconnected messages pulsing in my brain.

“Daniel?” I’m still gasping for air.

“Has the rock, sir. His color is better already.”

“Found it.” 

“Yes, sir, under a wrench in Siler’s tool box, but only after Walter managed to track him down a few minutes ago.”

“Give that man a medal,” I wheeze determinedly. 

“He said he didn’t feel right destroying something that belonged to Daniel and admitted he’d planned to give it back to him after all the furor had died down. What happened, sir?”

“Happened?”

“Just now? We couldn’t wake you up? For a second there we thought you’d gone into cardiac arrest.”

I close my eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after 17:30, sir.”

Holy buckets! No wonder I feel like I’ve been run through the ringer. I crawled into bed with Daniel a little before 14 hunderd hours; three-and-a-half hours ago. 

“Daniel? Okay?” 

“The rock seemed to initiate a turning point, Colonel. As soon as Sam put it in his hand, Daniel rallied. His vitals have stabilized, and it appears he’s just sleeping now. He has the rock in his own hand, sir, with his fingers closed around it.” Fraiser’s voice. 

Thank God! If he can wrap his own fingers around the rock, it’s absorbing that crippling arthritis.

“Colonel, can you tell us what happened?”

That would be Hammond.

“Right now, sir?” I can barely form coherent thoughts; much less put into words to describe _Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride._

I must have been seeing double, because there really aren’t that many people in the room; just my team, along with Fraiser and Hammond. I could have sworn I saw Siler and his wrench, Harriman, and Barnes with his team. Though come to think of it, I was sure I saw Steve Warren and his team here too. So – maybe not. 

“I think I had to wrestle the devil for our Littlest Ancient, sir.”

Hammond cocks an eyebrow at me. “Perhaps we should save this for later, when you’re both feeling more the thing, Colonel.”

I will an arm up to swipe the back of my wrist at the sweat streaming down my temple into the corner of my eye where it burns like the dickens. “I’d appreciate that, sir.” 

At least the synapses are connecting finally. The arm moved when I told it to.

Carter picks up a damp cloth and blots at my forehead. “You okay, sir?”

“I’m fine, Carter . . . now.”

* * *

“It was . . .” I pause to try and find the right words to conclude this briefing without being overly dramatic. “An experience I have no desire to repeat.”

“Jack saved me,” Daniel says without looking up from his drawing. He’s copying a line drawing of Carlichich one of the engineers gave him, except his drawing is a lot more detailed. He can’t quite get the body proportions and he keeps erasing and redrawing certain lines; the paper’s worn thin in spots. “If he hadn’t made the bridge and come for me, I would have gone with the dog lady.”

“The dog lady?” Carter inquires. “Alissana?”

“Oma Desala,” Teal’c says flatly. “I believe you are right, O’Neill. I, too, think they are one and the same.”

“Oh.” Carter glances at the two of us. “But - why?”

“Apparently she thinks he’d be easier to control in this incarnation.”

“Boy, she doesn’t know you very well, does she, Sport?” Carter grins at him.

“No, she sure doesn’t,” Daniel agrees, exasperatedly erasing yet again. “It’s a good thing Jack does, huh?”

“You betcha. Try looking at it from this angle.” This time Carter reaches across the table, and when he lifts his hand obligingly, tilts the original sketch a little to the right. “Maybe that perspective will help you see it better.”

The kid closes one eye and cocks his head to study both pictures. When he looks up, his grin is as wide as Carter’s. “That did it, Sam! Thanks!”

With swift, bold strokes, he fills in the rest of the picture – perfectly proportioned -- and captured with as much skill and imagination as the picture of Watoomah. In comparison, the engineer’s drawing looks like it belongs to a 7-year-old.

“Does that look like her now?” 

The picture is nearly touching my nose. “Daniel.”

It moves back six inches. “Is that better?”

“Another six inches and I might actually be able to distinguish the wings from the head.”

A put-upon sigh accompanies the movement of the picture as Daniel plants his ass on the table and leans back. The small, elfin face appears over the top of the picture, sporting an impish grin. “Is that better?” 

“Much, and it looks just like Carlichich. Come here, you imp.” I reel him in for a hug and a kiss, but he immediately wriggles out of my lap and scoots under the table, popping up on the other side to shove the picture into Hammond’s face.

I plant an elbow on the arm of the chair, prop my chin in my hand, and lean back to watch my kid make the rounds. 

Ultimately this is just another tactical situation to manage. What do we have? What do we need?

What I need is a way to get him to manage these new gifts without killing himself in the process. What do I have to accomplish that? Nothing. Nada. Squat. Except he is slightly more malleable in this incarnation, slightly more open to direction.

“Have you asked him how the rock works, sir?”

“Repeatedly, Carter. Until he got annoyed and told me to ask the other Daniel. We were in the middle of supper last night, when this happened, so I asked to talk to adult Daniel.”

Teal’c and Carter are leaning toward me. The General has one ear tuned into Daniel, the other to me.

“He screwed up his face, crossed his eyes, and held his breath until I thought he was going to pass out again. Then relaxed and said, ‘No go.’ He picked up his fork and started eating again, before looking over at me and asking if I thought maybe adult Daniel had gone somewhere with the dog lady, since he’d decided not to go with her after all.”

Carter sucks air and drops her forehead into her hand.

“Needless to say, I changed the subject.”

“If I knew how it worked, I’d tell you, Jack,” Daniel interrupts himself to insert. 

“But, Daniel, what made you think you could do something like that with the rock in the first place?” Carter raises her head to ask. 

He shrugs. “You were acting kind of funny when you went to the locker room with Jack and Teal’c and you felt kind of funny to me. When I touched you with the gold on your forehead, you felt better. Jack, too, only I didn’t try it on him until later when we were home.”

“But how did you know I felt better?” Carter persists.

“No,” he shakes his head vigorously. “I don’t mean _you_ felt better, I mean you felt better to me, not strange anymore. You look different when you don’t feel good inside, so I fixed it for you and you looked the same on the inside and the outside.”

“Do you know what an aura is, Daniel?”

“Like the aurora borealis we saw on the sleigh ride?” he asks, with a patient sigh. After all, Carter’s interrupted his story telling. 

“No, this is a different kind of aura, it’s a color, or colors, that surround each of us.”

“Yes,” he agrees immediately. “That’s what I mean. After I touched you with the powder from the rock, you were better, right?”

“Daniel, what color do you see around me now?”

“Is this pert – what’s that word, Jack?”

“Pertinent?”

“Yeah. Is this impertinent to this discussion?”

“It might be. It’s important that we understand as much about how the rock works as we can, so we don’t let you hurt yourself again.”

“Well, if Jack would just have listened to what I was telling him, none of this would ever have happened in the first place. I’m sorry, Jack,” he offers across the table. “But I told you and told you and told you and you just didn’t listen.”

“Guilty as charged, your honor. But Carter’s question is very pertinent. Can you see colors around us?”

He flicks his eyes heavenward and pats the General’s arm, motioning him to push back from the table. When he does, Daniel climbs into his lap and settles himself, much to George’s amusement, with his hands clasped on the table.

Like a school teacher, he begins his lecture. “Sam is usually mostly sunshiny yellow. Teal’c is almost always dark purple, like the color of those big fat grapes Jack puts in the freezer and they taste like candy when they come out. Jack is mostly white and blue. When you’re gone on missions, General Hammond is all red, but when you come home, he changes to white, too. Now can I finish telling my story?”

“Carter?”

“I’ll have to look it up, sir.”

“Yellow represents intelligence and wisdom, Majorcarter. Deep purple represents balance and security. White most often indicates purity, though it can represent protection as well. Blue is related to your spiritual path, the deeper the blue, the deeper an individual has delved into his or her own spirituality. And red is most often associated with anxiety and fear.”

We all gape at our resident Jaffa.

“The chakra’s are well understood within the temple system on Chulak. I have found your Earth teachings on these metaphysical phenomenon to be very close to our own beliefs.”

Will I ever cease to be astounded by the things he knows?

Picking up my jaw from the table as nonchalantly as possible, I ask, “Does this mean you see them, too?”

“I am capable, though it requires effort on my part. I believe Danieljackson has become accustomed to seeing them as part of us. Do you recall what our colors looked like on the day the rock made its way to you?

Daniel steeples his fingers, thinks for a moment, then nods.

“Can you tell us what you saw?”

“You were all muddy green, like someone had mixed all the colors and repainted you the same. I knew that wasn’t right. So I just sorted them out and put them all back in the right places.” He grins brightly at us. “Are we done now?

And I was worried he was channeling the Energizer Bunny. 

“But how did the rock help you sort us –“

My cell rings, startling us all, but especially Daniel. “I didn’t know your cell phone worked down here.” 

Carter’s only recently rigged up some doohickey that works like a cell tower, inside the mountain. I’ve been after her for years to come up with a phone that will relay off the Gates so we could just phone home if we get in trouble out there.

I fish for it and flip it open as I’m pushing back from the table. “Permission to adjourn this briefing in favor of an out-door-team-building-exercise, sir.”

“By all means, Colonel.” Hammond hands the picture back to Daniel. “I’ll mark our place in the story.” He taps his forehead with a wink. “So we can remember where to start up again when we have time for me to hear the rest of the legend.”

I’ve been hoping this call would come in before we had to be off-world again. I cleared it with the General several days ago, when Paige first told me about it.

She knows we geo cache and called to tell me this cache was going up.

Someday I’m going to figure out how that woman is so connected. There’s not a thing that goes on in Colorado Springs without her knowing about it – usually in advance. 

“Grab your geo caching packs and meet us at the surface ASAP. Daniel, get Hershey. I’ll meet you at the elevators.”

“Is it a new one?” Daniel asks as we all depart the briefing room at a brisk walk.

Our recent crisis kind of put paid to their efforts, but Teal’c and Daniel have been hunting tickets on eBay, for the sold-out sci fi convention in Denver this weekend, starring the _Wormhole Xtreme_ actors. 

It’s a _Wormhole Xtreme_ cache and I happen to know there are tickets up for grabs for the first to find.

Four of them. Now isn’t that coincidental?

“Yes, it’s a new one. And based on the coordinates, it’s relatively close by. We have a shot at a first to find, kids.”

“Yes!” Carter sweeps Daniel up as she breaks into a jog. “Let’s do it!”

“First to find?” Teal’c intones. “Indeed. Let’s do it.”

My team disperses in different directions and I’m alone at the elevator, scraping at some peeling paint with my key card, and wondering about purity and protection when the doors open on an empty car. 

As I step over the threshold and the doors are closing, a breeze wafts past me. Hitting the open door button does nothing and I slump against the panel – just briefly. I swear I didn’t even take an aspirin this morning. 

It’s the white, glowy outfit this time, complete with the crossed arms.

“That was excellent thinking on your part, to build a bridge Daniel was familiar with and happy to be on.” 

“Why are you hanging around here?” I don’t bother wasting time on pleasantries either..

“I have a vested interest in him, Colonel. I believe Dr. Jackson may be the saving, not only of your entire universe, but my soul as well.”

“You don’t have a soul, lady.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t,” she says pleasantly. “I bartered it away recklessly when I was young and foolish. I did not take him from you, O’Neill, though I could easily have swayed him.”

“Why not?”

“I am not your enemy.”

“Yeah, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. No offense, but the ring of truth seems to be missing from this scenario.”

“Here is the plain, unvarnished truth, without metaphors or that zen koan crap you scorn, Colonel. I will not let him fall into the hands of the enemy. If that means I must take him because you cannot protect him, I will not hesitate to do so. You were manipulated and used by the Rezulin’s in order to get that totem and the rock into Daniel’s hands. They are not your friends, but you will not go to your General Hammond and tell him this, because they have something your Earth politicians want and you know very well your superiors will not draw back from the treaty you put in place.”

“Why should I believe you? Why should I listen to anything you say? Both of us nearly drowned on that bridge, in a flood of your making.”

“The water on that bridge was not of my doing. Do you not see yet? Daniel draws power to himself like a wick. And while you are better at shielding your own power, the enemy has met you in battle. They will not underestimate you again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before we went to Rezula?” I veer back to the piece of interesting information she’s disclosed, wondering if it’s true. 

“I am not a god, O’Neill, I am not omniscient; I cannot be in multiple places at once; nor am I allowed to interfere.”

“Really? What the hell are you doing now?”

“Informing you, after the fact, that your poor choice had consequences much farther reaching than your paltry imagination could begin to comprehend.”

“Do you have anything – consequential – to share? Anything of a pertinent nature? Because, if not, I’m going to ask politely that you leave and stay the hell out of our business.”

“And if I don’t choose to do so? You will stop me how?” She doesn’t bother to leave space for me to answer, which is just as well. “Please try to remember you are not the only fish in my pond, I do have --- how did Hershey put it? -- other fish to fry?” 

“Your innuendos are less effective than the plain, unvarnished truth. You’re damn right, without some kind of proof, I’m not going back to Hammond with this.”

”Then I must try to anticipate where next they will attack and throw what forces are at my disposal in the line of fire.”

“I thought you didn’t interfere.”

“He is yours to guard only until such time as your guardianship fails, O’Neill. There are forces indiscernible on this plane that would take or destroy the essence of Daniel if they could. Dismantle your bridge, do not let them near it, or next time you need to use it, you will find it worm-riddled and faulty.”

“They who? And what about the rock? What does it have to do with any of this scenario?”

“The rock itself is benign; it can do him no harm. The harm of it comes from the malicious intent that brought it to his hands and perhaps that has burnt itself out. Though I do not know if this is true. Do not return again to Rezula and keep Daniel away from anything and anyone who has contact with the people of that planet.”

“So, do I let him keep the rock?”

“I told you, I can’t answer that. But if you take it away, he will kill himself trying to help others.”

“Right. Hey, since you’re here anyway, and in a chatty mood, suppose you tell me now if there are other places on the cartouche we should avoid?”

“Orinea’s Gate has long been known as a portal to the dark heart of the universe.”

“Yeah? How come nobody bothered to tell us? You people out there keep telling us we’re young. How’re we supposed to know these things if no one tells us?”

Score one for O’Neill. She actually looks perturbed for a moment before the ageless features smooth out. “I suppose you will continue as you have, blundering about until you’ve either annihilated yourselves, or learned to go on with more grace and less ineptness. That remains to be seen.”

“Wait!”

She’s less distinct, starting to glow more, but she stops the transformation and stares at me unblinking.

“You told me Daniel would be resized.”

She raises an eyebrow after a moment of silence. “And? So? Therefore?”

I hate when someone steals my lines, but, against my will, my lips twitch. “That damn well wouldn’t have happened if he’d gone with you.”

“I do not know the future, either, O’Neill, I merely predict, with some accuracy, the outcome of certain events. All outcomes are subject to change given the multitude of choices to be made between now and the realization of the event.”

“So you don’t know that for sure.”

She smiles again, the enigmatic, Mona Lisa smile. “Have I ever given you reason to believe I’m sure of anything?”

Dratted woman. 

“Well, you’ll get him again over my dead body. Bye, have a nice life.” I lift a hand in farewell and turn to punch the button, hoping she’ll take the hint and vamoose. 

She, of course, has to have the last word. “That remains to be seen as well.”

Light blooms like a nuclear reactor explosion

I have a couple of reasons to be thankful when my hair is lifted, again, by that little puff of breeze; I have hair - and it’s not Daniel.

Leaning back against the elevator wall, I start prying up the rough hewn planks from the floor of my mental bridge. The water is still cold, but I haul out my fishing waders and splash into the stream to take down the sides, tossing fifteen-foot timbers over to the bank like they’re matchsticks. The nicest thing about esoteric carpentry is the ease of building and dismantling. 

There’s a nice pile of kindling on the bank when I haul myself out of the brook. A flick of a regulation lighter and the mound becomes firewood. Since this is only mental gymnastics, I probably don’t have to stay and watch it burn down to ashes, but the kid in me can’t resist the blaze, so I sit awhile, toast a few cerebral marshmallows and watch my handiwork disintegrate. I’d rather build a new one if my kid needs to cross more bridges. 

In the meantime, I find myself whistling an old Simon and Garfunkel tune as I amble off the elevator and down the hall to my office to collect our geocaching backpack. 

_When you’re weary, feeling small,_  
When tears are in your eyes,  
I will dry them all,  
I’m on your side  
When times get rough  
When friends just can’t be found 

_Like a bridge over troubled water,  
I will lay me down._

Daniel and I have negotiated a lot of rough waters over the last eight plus years, and while we've burned a few bridges between us, we've always managed to rebuild. 

Hopefully, if - make that when - Daniel is resized to normal, we won't need anymore bridges.

 

~*~


End file.
